Vehemence
by Daastan Go
Summary: When a Clan is massacred in the wake of suspicions, Sasuke leaves his boyhood behind; he vows to find the truth and puts everything at risk for vengeance. (Full summary inside.)
1. Scarlet Harlots

**Vehemence**

 **Summary** : When a Clan is massacred in the wake of suspicions, Sasuke leaves his boyhood behind; he vows to find the truth and puts everything at risk for vengeance.

But, between mischievous seductions and a tug of war between clans over the mystery of massacre, who will fall and who will stand victorious? Nothing in the Shinobi world is won without a price. In time, Sasuke will learn just how dangerous such games can be and how powerful blood-ties are; and once you go down such a path, you can never turn back . . . and _Truth_ cannot always set you free.

 **Disclaimer** : Naruto and all its characters are Kishimoto's legal property. I'm not making any money off this story; however, all the Original Characters, Original Plot-lines, and Original Themes are my own.

 **Rating** : Written for Mature Readers due to violent and sexual situations; morbid humour and strong language.

 **Genres** (Main and Sub): Suspense and Mystery; Drama and Angst; Moral Relativism and Tragedy; Horror and Grotesque; Morbid humour and Erotica.

 **Prominent Characters** (in order of importance): Uchiha Sasuke (Central Character), Uchiha Itachi (Second most Prominent Character), Hyūga Hinata, Haruno Sakura, and Uzumaki Naruto (Prominent Catalyst Characters).

 **Other prominent characters** : Team Taka (Hōzuki Suigetsu, Uzumaki Karin, and Jūgo), Tsunade, and Hyūga Neji and others.

 **Yaoi/Incest Fans** : Don't expect any Yaoi/Incest concepts in my fictions. Look elsewhere if they give you elusive moments of gratification.

 **Warning** : Realistic military protocols, conflicting philosophies, non-sexual male bonding; violent character deaths, morbid content, promiscuity, and ideas this fandom isn't used to. Those who are averse to such things can stop reading now and find the work that suits their highly interesting tastes.

 **AN** : This is an 'Epic Length' fiction and it'll be long; thus, it'll have a slow start, and characters' motives (and why they behave in a certain way) won't be revealed immediately. It'll be a gradual process. The story starts at a certain 'point in time' and things proceed on from there. Everything is built upon the first dozen (or so) chapters—consider them the first 'build-up arc' of the whole story.

This story is semi-AU; I've written it in a manner that it's the same universe, but it's also a very different universe at the same time. This might seem paradoxical, but that's the best way I can put this. So the lore is moulded (and elaborated in many cases) to fit the constraints of this universe. Vehemence isn't about power-tiers (or insufferable self-projections labeled as power-trips), but power-dynamics in relation to various units in socio-cultural and political set-ups; which means that the story explores various roles and relationships in regard to an individual's social and political stature inside and outside the clan. That'll also include family, clan, and even sexual-dynamics and what it means to be a part of powerful clans' distinct political set-ups.

I've picked up many little (sometimes big) aspects from some prominent Japanese periods (Heian and Edo etc.); but as Naruto isn't set in any known Japanese era, there will be a mish-mash of many cultural and religious ethos, along with references to architecture, folklore, and cultural practices. The folktales narrated in the story may carry aspects from Nihon-shoki and Kojiki texts (and other folktales), but they'll mostly be made-up. So keep these things in mind. Last but not least, don't walk into this story expecting Romance—you'll experience grave disappointment.

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 **Chapter One** : Scarlet Harlots

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Sticks and leaves burst over the spillway, carried by the force of the water behind. Sun was strong today: it was probably the last of the snow melting on the cold mountains up north. Once the wind turned cold, there was no going back to the hot summer. Summer would come again next year—an eternal cycle.

Judging by the bitterness of the wind, autumn had come early and winter would be harsh this time. Konoha higher ups would have their work cut out for them. Crops died, some wilted, and the rice produced no grain. The fields they made to sustain themselves if the burden of war and famine was upon them—that was a dead end.

They would just have to beg before the Daimyō to give them funds for more supplies. Tsunade's reign was going smoothly, but it was not as if she could control weather.

He found it hard to stand still against the wind, his feet firm on the ground. The wind turned so cold at night and gained speed and muscle. Leaves blew and shushed and swayed; it created such a loud dissonance of sounds around him.

Dark clouds divided, wind lost its strength suddenly, and a glare of the half-moon bathed the lake. Choppy combers on the silent surface rolled in and made a dull sound that came throbbing through the trees. He could barely hear it. Standing before the meadow, he gazed, mesmerized, at the delicate stems that burrowed out of the ground. The petals opened. There were so many. He took out his Sharingan, but it was impossible to count them all.

They shone like chariots, trying desperately to catch the slivers of white light. Above them fluttered those autumn moths: they were purple, too, with circular black lines painted by nature to create an odd eye-shape upon their wings.

He moved his head back and caught sight of one fluttering just overhead. He moved swiftly; it tried to flutter away on a current with such haste, but he was too fast. With a single leap, he grabbed it out of the air. It struggled with near futile attempts to get out from between his fingers. He stared down at it with a curious disposition as though it aroused something in him, something long forgotten and old.

"Still chasing moths, huh?" Naruto asked as he appeared from the shadows of the trees to the right. "They're waiting ahead for the mission."

Sasuke let the moth go, face as cold as the wind. He did not say anything and started walking ahead.

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Incense and mist laden air . . . that was all he could see and smell. Without his Clan's gift, it was a vulgar suasion to entice the flesh. He did not enjoy coming here, not unless it became a necessity for his own flesh: it was a slave to few things; he never denied that. He fed it when it was starved and bore the bouts of a delightful sensation, an itch, as he trained it daily to wait for the melody to rise within him to a crescendo. Then the release was . . . almost sweet.

He felt pride in the fact that he had conquered his flesh, his worst enemy, tamed it on his own terms; and the man struck the gong, a wordless song blasting in their direction. Harlots swathed in red decadence glided over to the centre, their hair inky in the white light spilling from overhead.

The drum pounded. Louder. Louder. Then the sound vanished, absorbed by the walls that drank it greedily. They just could not wear the blush of a drunkard upon their facades. They stood silent, watching, listening, sleeping.

The harlots leant over, and their pliant backs formed an arch like a taut bow. Runnels of sweat ran between their breasts, squeezed together, spilling over from between the collars of their kimonos. They folded into a sudden dance: hips swaying, hair whipping, patient feet kicking up the small amount of earth there; and then they stamped it down and sank to their ankles in the soft ground. It was a cheap trick of the Doton users in the near vicinity. A Genin could produce the same results, but this was not about the child soldiers: it was about moulding the flesh into the demanding form of desire.

Men sat idle upon the mats all around, eyes watching the rippling young flesh, mouth slavering at the corners. Their wait was a test of patience, their pockets full of coins—buyers and chattel. As long as there was a buyer, every willing body was bought. It just had to yield to their demands, cringe with servility.

A soft sigh passed his lips, and the mist parted in the exhalation. Next to him, his shy subordinate was sitting with his head bowed. He did not want to lay his eyes upon the enticing temptation. He was married with a child, and his vows mattered to him, though the vulgar moans spilling unabated from plump lips were testing his resolve and loins.

The women turned on their heels fluidly, and their shadows ran about the room. Bits of earth floated up and went away. Water rose up in its place and soaked through the silk garments; their sartorial brilliance was rendered almost obscene. Cheap. You would not need a Sharingan to see their inviting miens, the sweet sheen of their skin, and the flare of their thighs and tight buttocks. That drew such excited groans from a few men. They had already decided to spill between their thighs tonight.

With arms held loose along their sides, they let the Kimonos fall down to their waists, revealing pretty, corpulent breasts and flushed skins—tight crests beaded with pearly drops of sweat and water. It was such a show for wanting eyes and heated groins that throbbed with anticipation. Then they jerked their heads back, and the hair flew behind them, lashing their spines like whips and propelling the water away from their red prints—red against white. And now his Sharingan flickered to life and counted the drops in the lull only his eyes could grant him.

They floated there around the blushing skin, falling slowly . . . slowly down through the mist, making little holes in the faint light from the lantern that had suddenly turned purple and then light grey around the edges. Mist fluttered there like the wings of an autumn moth. Stone-cold chill went through his skin and rippled there the way the air was disturbed by their chaotic dance; it overpowered the red, cooled it down, and it went to sleep again, enjoying its slumber.

The drums beat louder and louder and louder, reaching a frenzied crescendo of music. The distorted voices from men sounded as though they were chanting in a choir. His head was pounding, and he rose the glass to the lips and took a little sip to cool his temple. He sighed and the drumming sound rose in answer; and the dancers' song reached a high wail and then sank back to a low moan. The music ebbed away into a kind of comforting silence he welcomed.

The girls-in-red scampered away laughing into the shadows behind the partition screens, and the light overhead turned white again. A drunkard tried to grab one girl's leg but missed and fell face first to the wooden floor. The floor stopped moving and the music rose with an exquisite and resonant chord again.

He took another sip. The spectacle was over. Mist cleared the area, and the good aristocrats showed approval in a politely efficient manner, with faint gestures of their soft hands and well-mannered smiles. Clever raconteurs.

A woman clad in such a dazzling kimono emerged from behind the richly painted partition-screen: it had a scene of battle upon one corner and a wild storm upon the other. He thought it looked so odd for such a place. It was probably a gift from a wealthy customer. Shadows of girls and men slithered cross its rippling surface.

The woman daintily crossed the room, a fan held tightly in her right hand. Bowing lowly, she settled herself down before him and pulled out a scroll from her sleeve. A smile forced itself onto her red-painted lips; they were like a stain of blood upon her powdered face.

"Uchiha-Sama," she spoke in a lilting voice, "they used the caves."

She held out the scroll and he took it from her hand. _This would do_. He rose to his feet, and his subordinate scrambled to stand up as though he had been knocked over by a heavy blow.

She bowed again and placed her forehead and hands on the floor. "You aren't staying, Uchiha-Sama?" she asked, but when no reply came from him, she spoke again, more sweetly this time, "I shall give the money to Hanakoto-San. Have a safe journey."

She wore his shadow for a few seconds as it got dragged off her body. Finally, it disappeared from upon her, and she raised her head and shoulders, breathing in such a loud sigh as if an impossible burthen had been lifted from her body . . .

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	2. He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

**Chapter Two** : He Loves Me; He Loves Me Not

 **Canon Manga Info** : Sasuke dodged several successive C2 shockwaves in his fight against Deidara and only used his Cursed Seal (CS) once to do so. He even dodged a C4 one and (only) pulled out the CS for a return trip back to Deidara. If anyone isn't aware, then their shockwaves are Mach twenty/twenty-two in speed. You can ask for scans if you feel like it. This speed is unmatched in the manga bar Ae using his version-two Raiton armour when he pours Bijuu chakra into it to enhance his speed (Sasuke dodged his Version-One easily and landed an attack as well, something Kurama-Chakra-Mode Naruto couldn't even manage without Deus Ex Machina). It wasn't beaten till EMS Sasuke wasn't introduced.

 **Warning** : Morbid and Offensive Humour.

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It was raining cats and dogs, the sounds so loud that she could not even hear herself think. Rain cascaded down and spun a grey veil across the vast forest. Rain fell off the rocks and trees in sheets, like a gauzy curtain. Her young muscles rippled as she ran behind her team, green eyes barely able to keep track of them in front.

Sasuke stopped suddenly and took refuge behind the thick tree-bark—its texture was rough and wet—that scraped against his bare right hand. His Sharingan was out, glowing like danger on his face. The branches overhead had reached out and intertwined into a tangled mess, but Sakura could _still_ feel the cool lash of rain on her skin. Heavy rain and wind pushed at her from behind as if trying to get her flat down. She pressed herself flat against the tree and hid behind it when she saw Sasuke flick his fingers to signal Neji to go right.

It was a race against time to catch the Rock spies before they took off with the stolen scrolls. Tired and exhausted, they had hidden in a cave ahead. It was now or never. Chakra fizzled around Sasuke's right hand and turned into Chidori: it stretched out five meters ahead of him, and a bloodcurdling scream tore through the misty morn and shot out of the mouth of the cave. The sound progressed into a gruesome shriek and, suddenly, died out. The man was probably dead.

Standing stiff and alert behind the tree, Sakura could see nothing—she did not have Sasuke's unmatched foresight or Neji's ability to cover a vast span of distance in a heartbeat. She was ordinary. Her skills were something she had made for herself. She was not born privileged. Little by little, she had honed herself into an exceptional Medic, but it was difficult to please Sasuke . . . he always nitpicked about everything she did. It was almost childish, this odd side of his character to demand perfection in the tasks he gave her. He was never fair, not to her.

Steps, so many of them, sloshed through water, and she shrank into the ground to avoid any attack sent her way. She was a medic. Sasuke had asked her to stay hidden. She was going to listen this time and avoid the lash of his scathing tongue. Rain filled her green eyes and ears. She had one hand in the mud to keep herself steady as she wiped her eyes and face on the back of her hand. The noises, the screams . . . they were drowned out by the wind and rain.

Sakura's eyes skittered across the area and then to Sasuke as he casually clashed with seven ninjas. Blood flew into the air and quickly disappeared under the heavy rain. The men screamed. A few more cuts, a few deep slashes through the sides, tearing through muscles, and they were dead—all of them. He did not even have his Sharingan out. A smug expression was on his face. Something she was so familiar with. Something she intimately resented.

A loud sound distracted her, and she twisted her neck to look back at the noise Naruto was making; he had gotten so well at making Rasengan with a single hand over the past few months. It took him years to amass enough experience out of his clones to manage that. He shouted silly things, sounded off so many childish obscenities as he slammed it into the gut of the unsuspecting ninja in front. It drilled into his skin and sent him flying back.

Two of his clones grabbed one of their injured fellow teammates and carried him out of the fray. Sakura looked on through the sheets of rain to Sasuke clashing with another ninja in a manner as if he was playing with him. He could be so cruel, so sadistic sometimes. Her eyes were unable to see his face clearly; it was enshrouded by dim shadows of the trees and the heavy fall of rain between them.

Slowly, Sakura raised herself to her shaky feet. Biting cold was pressing in on her body; a cool wave raced through her, and her heart deliciously fluttered in response to warm her body. Harsh sounds of metal against metal were jarring—the motions of the Shinobis' sword dance slow. Sasuke was just playing around. He cut here and there and then flashed to the back and kicked the man forward, sending him crashing into the mud.

The man was livid. Embarrassed. He clenched his teeth, raised that sword high, and charged, only to be shown the same courtesy again. His face was flat in the mud this time. Sasuke placed his sandal on his back and slammed him back down as he tried to get up. He was too weak to get away as he helplessly wriggled there like a fish out of water. It was a bit odd to see Sasuke draw amusement out of something so silly.

Her eyes roamed to the left to gaze upon Neji. He was a skilled shinobi. His swiftness and speed always amazed her. He was no Sasuke, but he was the second fastest shinobi on all the squads. His fingers jabbed into the joints like bolts of lightning and felled the ninjas one after another. He sent the men sprawling to the muddy ground, and few crashed helplessly into the trees around him.

Sakura was still looking when muddy hands grabbed at her throat and lifted her off the ground. Her eyes opened wide and turned to terror; her feet shook violently, unable to find purchase on the ground. The pressure was building around her throat. Sakura's eyes rolled back into her head and her throat spasmed violently. Her lungs burnt. She reached up and grabbed the man's wrist, and releasing chakra into her hand, she crushed it completely. He let out a choked scream and faltered, and she slipped down from his death-hold. That was all she needed. She pushed back, slamming her back against the tree to dislodge her attacker.

His powerful grip slackened and Sakura twisted away and spun around. Her fist flew in his direction. He was still quite fast as he ducked and avoided her attack. The tight, trembling fist slammed into the tree and tore clean through. The broken bark crackled, swayed, and then toppled over to the left. She jumped back when his sword slashed through the air. He suddenly stopped. There was a glint in his eyes. He opened his hand and the sword fell down. With such inhuman swiftness, he opened his jacket and terror washed over her: so many explosive tags were stuck to his breast and they were about to explode!

Sakura flashed back but it was not enough. Her mouth opened wide to let out a loud scream. That was when she felt someone grab her and flash away. The tags exploded; she could not see a thing, just a flash of blinding light. She got knocked out of the air and crashed into the mud, rolling on the ground and hugging her hand to her chest. Mud was on her face, her head, and matted on her hair and her entire left side.

Slowly, she pulled her head up and saw Sasuke standing before her, with his wispy Susanoo out. Its rib-cage took the force of the explosion and cracked a little, pushing him back as his sandals slipped in the mud; but he held his ground, with his hands raised high, as the aura swirled before him and expanded wide to stop the heat of the fire.

Her breaths were loud and quick, and her heart beat madly. She was sweating despite the chill of the rain. She straightened her torso and lifted herself up on her elbows and looked back. Neji stood with Naruto and two other ninjas behind her. His jacket was in tatters, and he held onto an injured Naruto.

Sakura looked back to Sasuke again, and her eyes travelled over his back and the bleeding arm. A thin, spiky rock was stuck in his lower arm, and fresh blood was flowing down his white elbow. At last, the shockwave passed and the spray of rain returned. The heat was gone. Rain cooled the hot air around them. He pulled his hands down, and the Susanoo disappeared like a ghost before him.

His expression was guarded as he turned around and pulled the rock out, leaving a deep hole in his arm. He looked down and his face changed his time. "I thought I told you to keep watch. What were you doing? You could've gotten everyone killed," he said, his voice venomous and sharp.

Sakura coughed, and her fingers reached up to touch her bruised throat. "Someone grabbed me from behind. I didn't—"

"You better pray it doesn't happen again, Sakura. I _will_ send you home for disobeying me next time," he said in anger and walked away just like that.

Warm blood rose to her cheeks and she felt humiliated. She slowly rose to her feet and watched as he left all of them standing in the rain. She pulled her eyes away, distraught.

Night came and stars wheeled across the sky. The mission was over, but Sasuke's work was far from done. He sat alone in his office, skimming through the details of the mission. They had to chase Rock spies disguised as bandits and retrieve an official scroll in their possession. They stole it straight from the office by making a network of tunnels underneath the heavily guarded security department.

They were right under their noses the whole time, and no one saw it coming. If Neji's Byakugan had not rent through the ground and detected a subtle crack in the lower pillar, the crafty crooks would have gotten away. Still, it took so much effort. Sasuke did not even have time to form a proper team: he just took the men still in the office. And only the great Sage knew that he never wanted to take Sakura with him after that last mishap.

Sasuke could still see how desperate and hysterical she was in her mad chase of him. He hardly had any nice things on his mind about her. She was still the same: hopelessly infatuated and stubbornly childish. Years had given her no wisdom. He had tried to get her off his team many times, but it was hardly that easy. Naruto was infatuated with her, and Tsunade loved her. She threw her in his face because she was probably—in her very humble opinion—the best Medic-Nin on all teams, and Naruto just wanted to put his prized Naruto-Chan in her girly place and be ecstatic about it all day long.

The things he did to please her, to keep her close—his stupidity was limitless. Naruto still could not understand [that] she was only using him to stay on his team and try her hand at persuading him to bed her. Her frustrations had only inflamed her obsessions. He had tried to pass subtle hints through Naruto's thick-head, but his ears remained clogged up with her passionate night-time warbles; and despite Naruto's precious stamina and _interesting_ talents, he was rethinking this absurd arrangement.

He created the final letter on the scroll, watched it dry out, and rolled it up. Today's task was done. He got to his feet and took a few steps, the scroll still in his hand. He looked outside the office window, and then he turned his eyes slightly to look at the clock: it was just three minutes past midnight.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, looking at the clear night. The rain had stopped hours ago. He moved a little and pushed the scroll into the large fancy-looking cupboard—courtesy of his own family. He wrinkled his nose as a familiar smell wafted to him from just beyond the door. Not a second later, the door clicked open and someone entered his office.

"Why are you still here?" he asked, frowning. "Go home. We have an important mission tomorrow."

When no sound came from her, he turned around and looked at her, as she stood in the dim light of the bulb. Sakura had washed her dirty hair. Her fair face, framed in pink hair, was filled with a little desire; her cheeks, a little pink; and she breathed a deep sigh. She was holding a scroll in her hand. Her eyes were upon his face, and he felt as though she wanted to say something intimate—and very unbecoming—to him.

"I—" Sakura began and coughed, her fingers brushing against her bandaged throat, "I came here to give you my report." She took three long steps and put the scroll on the table.

Sakura kept looking at him and the red in his eyes, holding her gaze as if she wanted to trap him against the wall and have her way with him. There was a slight tremble in her pink lips (she was on the verge of speech), but she mashed her lips together to swallow her words. His eyebrows went up, and then a slow, slow smile graced his face, the look in his eyes like that of a wolf staring at a carcass he wanted nothing to do with.

"What do you want, Sakura? I hope you haven't come here in hopes of playing like last time," he whispered in the voice of a lover, and his face turned mischievous—that mouth curled in an exquisite smile.

Shock passed over her face and then it hardened in anger. "I just came here to see if you were all right. That's all," she said and turned her eyes away, her cheeks red with repressed anger.

Sasuke raised his arm and turned it around a little with his other hand; it was bandaged, and the wound was almost healed. "Looks fine to me," he said and returned his eyes to her face. "Is that all?"

Sakura gulped down the big lump in her throat, her heart tripping; hot blood raced through her veins as her own arousal pushed her towards him. She did not know when she closed the gap between them. She grabbed his hand, placed it on her cheek, and turned her face to kiss his palm and bit the tip of his finger. Her eyes darkened and she pressed her body against him. The heat was unbearable: it made her head spin. She just wanted him to melt into her. It was such an honest thought, and she was not ashamed of it.

Moving her hand up, she pulled the jacket's zip down the length of his body. She only made it halfway when he grabbed her wrist, his lips an inch away from hers. His hot breath blew across her sweaty face and a shiver ran through her. "Stop it!" he let out a low hiss and pushed her back. He looked angry now, his Sharingan out and dangerous, warning her to back off.

Hot breath hissed in and out from between Sakura's teeth, and her face mimicked the expression on his with the same intensity. "You're so heartless! All I desire is a bit of your time. You don't even have anything to lose, but you torment me because you can," she choked out, shaking and balling her fingers into fists.

"Aren't you used to this treatment by now?" he mocked, and his mouth pulled into a half-smile despite himself. "You're such a masochist, Sakura. If I were you, I would've given up on me a long time ago. I don't know why you even keep coming back just to experience rejection over and over again. Do you take satisfaction out of this arrangement?"

Colour flew from her lips, and then it suddenly deepened in her cheeks and lips. There was an angry glint in her ferocious green eyes, and the muscles in her face worked in nasty fury. "Don't mock me because I love you. You have no right. All I ever asked of you was to love me back. Even for a few moments. But you're so selfish. You only care about yourself," she said in a deep voice that wavered with the usual desperation.

"Why don't you love Naruto?" came the quick reply.

Her dark eyes flashed hatred and she felt singed by his words. "That's none of your concern," she said through clenched teeth and backed away.

"Of course it's not," he began and fixed her with an amused look, "why should I be concerned when you are just using him to try and get in my bed?" He flashed her a meaningful smile and then turned his eyes away in a playful manner.

"T-That's not true." Emotions garbled her words as she stifled the sob that burnt her throat now. She felt humiliated. Stung. "I'm not in this team to seduce you. Don't mock me. I _just_ want to prove my worth as a shinobi to my parents. You wouldn't understand . . ."

He smiled and it was a cold smile that mocked her still. "Of course you are. That would explain your irritating habit of coming here, begging for a romantic tryst. Even your dodgy mouth has become so boring now," he said coldly and held his stern, unflinching gaze.

Sasuke's words struck her and they struck her deep and they struck her raw. The sting was shameful. "You were never this cruel, Sasuke," she breathed out, took in a long breath afterwards, and went on, "you were never this cruel. I've loved you since I was a child. Why are you so hateful? You're never fair to me. You always hurt me. Why, Sasuke? Don't do this. Don't hurt me . . ."

Sakura's head was bent now. Her eyes misted over and streamed out fresh tears. She raised her hand and wiped at her eyes and tried to even out her breathing. When she raised her head, her eyes were so red. He did not seem moved. He was cold—so cold and cruel. His eyes slightly turned and he looked at the door. A smile danced on his lips and he spoke coldy: "your lover is here. Want to continue? He may love this free spectacle!"

She drew in a sharp breath. Anger flickered across her face, and she spun away and left the room. He heard Naruto call out to her, but she took swift steps to leave the building. A few seconds passed and Naruto entered the room. He was not wearing his usual grin that stretched his lips from ear to ear. There was an annoyed look on his face as he looked at him in an accusatory manner.

"You scolded her again?" Naruto asked with hands on his hips. "You can be so mean, Sasuke."

"Nothing that would concern you," Sasuke said and turned around to pull out a scroll from the deep corner of the cupboard. "Why are you here? If you came here for Sakura, then she already left a playtime invitation for you. Go and play with her and stop bothering me."

Naruto's face flushed in embarrassment and he looked away. "That's not what I asked," he said in a huff and crossed his arms. "Why are you up so late?"

"Office work," he droned and slowly opened the scroll. "You know, I don't care how you play with her, just keep her restrained. She's out of your control." He turned around and eyed him with annoyance in his face.

"You don't have to be so grumpy all the time," Naruto mumbled and looked up at the still fan. It had been shined to perfection: an odd Uchiha habit to keep things disturbingly clean. Itachi was even worse. He could have sworn he saw his own reflection in that fan's blade last time he went to that cold-tomb Sasuke enthusiastically called his Nii-Sama's lovely office; or it could've just been his mind playing tricks on him. Itachi, in his humble opinion, was creepy.

"It comes with the heritage and responsibility. You wouldn't understand," Sasuke said with a smile. "How's your wife? She probably knows about your little affair. The whole team probably knows. I don't think it's a big secret, really. Soon, your parents will start breathing down your neck, and then you'll start weeping before me. It's an endless cycle, and it's really tiring."

Naruto's eyes grew wide. He looked a little confused. "I don't think she knows. I don't think even my parents are certain of it. They just like making guesses to shame me," he said, looking a bit alarmed. It was obvious that he wasn't sure of his own thoughts. The look faded from his face; he blinked and moved a little to face Sasuke. "I intend to end it anyway—I just need the rank."

"Ah, the rank," Sasuke paused to widen the smile, "aren't you working so hard for it? Playing with Sakura and all that. But I am a terrible friend. Why would you need my advice? You could do without them."

"I love Sakura. You know that!" Naruto said, breathing heavily as he worked himself into anger. His cheeks and nose were red now. "Do you always have to mock me?"

"I'm not mocking you. It's not as if you listen to me anyway," he said and placed the scroll on the table, his red eyes meeting his. "Hinata is your wife. Her family, _your_ family, will only make things worse for you. Go near her from time to time. That's all I'm suggesting. She isn't contagious."

His words silenced Naruto. He appeared to be lost in thought as if he did not know what to say. "How long has it been since you last touched her? Sooner or later, this will escalate, two clans will get involved, and she might just give in to her natural desires. It would be so amusing that you're the one who pushed her to look for a lover . . . something _interesting_ to look forward to rather than cleaning gardens and painting terrible lamps all day long, you know?" His countenance was sarcastic now.

"Hinata would never do that, she—" Naruto broke off, and his expression in such moments was always a confused one. Sasuke could see a bit of anger stir in his deep blue eyes—that familiar male ego was still there.

"Oh? I didn't know she was a temple-nun living through her rigid oath of yearly celibacy in your absence," he said. "Your idealistic view of her is very amusing. She is human. She has desires—needs. Don't be a fool. I'm not asking you to drop Sakura. I'm asking you not to make things worse for yourself."

His words were met with astonished silence. Naruto had dropped his gaze to the floor. His eyes roamed here and there aimlessly. He was caught up in his own little world. He was always indecisive, naïve, and foolish—always had been.

"You can leave and play with your wicked lover. I have work to do," Sasuke said and resumed his office chair to write down the final report. It would take him a good one hour to review every detail; and by that time, Naruto was already at Sakura's place, thinking about Hinata, his parents, and their betrayal. Somehow, it was pushing him over to the edge, and he felt something familiar stir deep within him, and he did not know why . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : Nuns aren't restricted to Christianity; in fact, the word nun isn't even biblical in origin. The most famous nuns in Japanese history were the 'Kumano bikuni'. They were groups of travelling nuns in medieval Japan who preached to women by telling them stories and showing them pictures. These stories and pictures often involved pregnancy and childbirth that concerned the female audience. Women took over the Ketsubonkyo cult as a result of the institutional and doctrinal association between various monastic nun orders.

These nuns carried the paintings that depictured the detailed accounts of the Blood pool Hell and offered the doctrinal practices of salvation. Nuns also wandered prominent towns for fund-raising missions on the behalf of temples and shrines. These institutions were helmed and run by nuns.

The legend of a child nun figure originated from these institutions. She's famously called 'Yao bikuni,' and she appears mostly in Tokugawa-period gazetteers. The main elements of the story are that a little girl stumbled upon a peace of dried meat (human or mermaid) and that cursed her with immortality. Over eight hundred years of age, she dubbed the 'eight-hundred nun'. She's also referred to as the 'Shira bikuni' or the 'white nun', which refers to her snow-white hair or the fairness of her complexion or the white camellia she carries.

The Yao bikuni spread her teachings in the Jizo hall, from where the idea of the Blood Pool Hell was widely propagated by the 'medium' of female Jizo called Jizoko. Jizo holds an important position in the iconography of the 'painting of the ten worlds perceived within the mind' and the stages of the human life cycle that were carried across the country by the bikuni and used in preaching for fundraising.


	3. There Was Such a Thing as Trouble

**Chapter Three** : There Was Such a Thing as Trouble

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She sat alone. It was a routine. Shadows were laid on thick by the evening sky. A dull sort of somberness had permeated the air of the moors. The wind was cool, a little cold. Autumn was upon her.

Getting up slowly, she snatched a quick breath, and a listless sigh began to rise from inside her, coming out as a small shallow breath that clouded her face. Beyond the window, beyond the trees, and beyond the walls of mist, there was nothing but darkness.

There was a dull reddish hue a few moments ago that lingered around the subtle-bend of the darkening horizon; it was gone now. She took two slow steps and slid shut the window. A smell of grass had snuck in. She remembered that she would have to work on another patch tomorrow.

The house was a little creaky and always made odd sounds, fighting against the assault of mild winds and gentle rains. It was as though it tried to make itself steel, bear the burthen _Nature_ wrought.

She slowly backed away and turned around to face a pallid shaft of light pouring out of her room at the end of a quiet corridor. The house was steeped in dark, and it sobbed often in such a melancholic voice—cold had frozen its veins. She could turn light lanterns, but it did not matter today.

Her steady footfalls creaked on the floor and it protested in its old age. She remembered that this house was a gift from her father-in-law: one of the many things he had given her in dowry several moons past. This house had become such a lonely place now. Years had made it weary like a man; some of the beams were cracked and bent (old bones left fragile through the years).

But she was _still_ young: a white blossom in the cracked mound of dirt. How long did a flower last under the uncaring sky? She drew a sharp sigh that moved her breast and walked into the room. A wave of warmth and light washed over her. The fire was still hot in the hearth and spilt a red glow over the paintings she had abandoned a few hours ago.

A lit yellow lantern sat quietly next to a few brushes scattered upon the white scroll. A flower that lay tucked under one of the pages; fire had made it so dry now, and its leaves had shrivelled, looking as if it had lived through the scorching heat of summer—a pinkish one and the fire had drained it dry.

She dragged in a warm breath, almost smelling the burnt scent of the flower's petals in her breath. Looking around, she found the room in shadows. It got that way when she did not light any more lanterns. She looked at the large shadow that lay like a sleeping figure on one side of the bed: it was Naruto's side.

He often slept on his left side, with his back to her. His snoring was an intermittent affair. He always let out whistling breaths when it got too cold; and then he would flop onto his belly with a sudden, convulsive movement and emit gurgling sounds into the makura . . . till she was forced to get up, make haste towards their small kitchen, and prepare a warm herbal tea to ease his suffering.

Its smell always wafted to him faster than the workings of her unsure and creaky steps. When she would step into the room, sloshing tea upon the floor in her hurried state, his warm grin always greeted her, along with the ponderous upward movement of the hand to scratch the prickly blond hair. Then he wrinkled his nose, face coming alight with soft delight.

Those were the good old days—early months of her marriage. With time, the shadows just became thicker. There was no form to them afterwards, and they just lay there like large shapeless things across the futon. Sometimes, the white sheets bore stains of red, but that did not happen often. Her body was cold; it did not enjoy ceding to the act that brought her misery . . . shame, too.

Blood roared in her breast, and she stopped her ears to listen. It was the sound of shame, her world crumbling around her and flying away in vapours. Her vision was invaded with something wet, white eyes brimming with fears. She took one step, then two, and sat down upon a cushion before the hearth.

Its heat went through her skin, and the pores involved expelling out beads of sweat brought about by a different kind of longing. She put her chalk-white hands upon her thighs and watched them tremble through a watery film. From somewhere, and she did not know where, wind had let itself in to touch the sluggish trails of her shame and honour. They were still busy tracing her changing contours.

Blush spread beneath the tingly skin in the heat, and she did not know how to feel. Her fearful eyes, which welcomed the invasion of a new feeling, fell upon the red coals burning in the hearth; so many of them had turned so black, soot-like around the edges. They were crumbling away. So was she. So was her honour. It had died brutally in the hands of her desire and under the spears of her lust. They had glided through the flesh, embedding themselves cruelly into her soul, and it was remorseless.

Outside, a storm raged on. Hours passed by and she sat blinking away the signs of her shame, not caring about gazing upon them quivering there like little pearls on her guilty hands. The flame guttered in the lantern, and the coals turned cold. Her breaths came out white, but her eyes could not leave the red there. It was soothing, enchanting, bewitching . . .

# # # # # #

Quiet steps followed a long unrelenting form of a shadow that lay undisturbed on the floor. As he drew near the dark door, the wood gave out a subtle creak with every step. It was a ponderous place now that had stood the test of time through many generations. He stopped for a moment before the closed door to pull in a quick little breath. The exhalation came out louder than he had expected.

Bunching his fingers into a soft fist, he raised his hand to knock upon the door. A voice came from the room before his fist could collide with the wood there. "Come in, Sasuke," it said in a manner he always found a little foreboding.

Sasuke breathed in and out once, rather resolutely, and slid open the door. A subtle smell of incense crawled up his nostrils, and they flared in response. The room was fortified by vicious bright lights from several lanterns and had waged a war against shadows' encroaching steps.

Gold lanterns sat on the desks and in the alcoves. A few scroll paintings still wore broken shadows of the thick beam overhead, but the light was bright enough to highlight their beautiful patterns: Kirin danced in the dull colours of autumn, and a few crows sat cawing in a dry tree. He never understood why his brother was so fascinated by such odd displays of melancholy. It was just one of those things . . .

His thoughts were cut short by the jagged blade of silence. This room was so quiet. One would imagine that the flames would make a noise on the wicks, but it was not so. The brush was loud; it had conquered the struggle and was mighty in his brother's long fingers. A dry sound of its movement rose into the air, and he was almost forced to shut the door behind himself to break the excited vibrations it produced in the air. Everything was just so eerie about him.

He had raised his shadow-eyes briefly to look upon Sasuke's curious countenance, only to go back to the mundane task of writing—whatever leisurely task he was preoccupied with before. Sometimes, Sasuke just wished his brother would turn on his Sharingan to make his eyes seem apparent to his, but he was the secretive type.

He approached him, a little cautiously, shoving his sweaty, unwilling hand into his pocket to pull out the official report on the messy Rock-Spies' affair. Then his feet stopped of their own volition, his eyes looking to his brother's hazy face: he could not see it clearly. He was sitting crossed legged behind the small table. His spine was straight like steel; his eyes were only subtly downcast to look at his fingers as they drew words on the scroll.

Tonight, his brother wore traditional clothes. A black haori was thrown over his shoulders with such delicate, meticulous care that he could have sworn there was no difference between the lengths of the sleeves' tips dangling above his knees. Everything was arranged neatly on his desk. There was not a scroll, not a shadow out of place . . . and it made him feel a little unnerved, suddenly sapped of courage.

A loud pop from the fireplace distracted him for a second, but his brother's voice drew his eyes back to his face again. "Sit down," he said and Sasuke obeyed.

The scroll was clutched tight in his hand like a weapon. Itachi was still writing, eyes moving with the smooth and slow movement of his fingers. The dry sounds were louder up close. It was as though something small was being dragged across the rough surface, but the sounds were muffled through the winds.

"You should know how to manage your team," Itachi spoke almost suddenly, and Sasuke dropped his eyes in an apologetic manner to look at a dry brush that lay abandoned next to a scroll: an inky shadow was clinging to its smooth wooden form. His eyes seemed to like the momentary distraction.

"An inquiry is a terrible affair," Itachi paused and so did his hand in its smoothing movement, "if your team had died, it would have been so dreadful for you, Sasuke."

"I'm—" Sasuke barely choked out, eyes eluding him, "forgive me, Nii-Sama. I was—"

"Why do you want to take on this Hyūga matter?" Itachi asked and the dry invasive sounds stopped. "It is not wise. Is it because of Neji?" There was a trace of curiosity in his brother's voice, and that compelled Sasuke to steal a quick glance at his face that was still cast in grey shadows invading his mien, as if he enjoyed their company. Then Sasuke lowered his head and nodded.

"How fortunate for Neji that you want the best for him, even though it is not your place to meddle in his affairs," Itachi spoke, a little coldly, and something inside Sasuke rose in ferocity to defend himself.

"He's a good man," Sasuke said, raising his eyes to look to where his brother's should have been. "As a Captain, I—"

"It is _not_ wise," Itachi cut across him, his voice heavy, commanding.

Sasuke could not see his face still, and it was so bothersome. He lowered his eyes immediately, and his face fell into a look of child-like worry and anger.

Sasuke heard him breathe out a sigh but did not have the courage—nor the audacity—to look him in the eye. "But knowing how you cause trouble when you cannot have your way, I am allowing you to see the evidence—nothing more." The soft sound of Itachi's clothes invaded the space as he placed the scroll on the table.

He did not say anything more, and Sasuke saw this as a sign of approval. Sasuke put the scroll he had in his grasp upon the table and grabbed the other one with a rather quick movement of his hand.

His brother was still silent. Thinking that this was enough, he rose to his feet, gave a little customary bow, and turned around before his brother's words stopped him. "I want no trouble from this, Sasuke," he said and those same dry sounds began anew.

Sasuke did not turn around to look at him and left the room with sure, quiet steps . . .

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	4. Dull Mornings and Strange Nights

**Chapter Four** : Dull Mornings and Strange Nights

 **AN** : _Tamahagane_ is a type of steel made in the Japanese tradition.

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Naruto sat quietly in the chair and fiddled impatiently with the buttons on his green jacket as though they demanded his full attention. His mind raced untamed. His hands shook, palms slick with sweat. Downcast blue eyes began to glaze over with a cool film of sweat coming down his forehead; he could not see anything on his hands. His vision was lost to suspicions that bred in his mind like cattle.

His thoughts kept going back to Hinata. It was true, he had never touched her in a way a lover would . . . he felt that it was almost wrong. The few times he ever tried, it was just to fulfill his parents' wishes for a son—an heir for the families. Naruto married her for it was everyone's wish. He did not love her, and he was sure she felt the same.

If it was not true, then she could have asked him to love her, to be intimate with her . . . she did not care about his needs. All she ever did was busy herself with her farm and paint small lamps for her sister's shop. He always came last. Deep lines creased his forehead in resentment, and he moved his shaky fingers through the wet hair. He was just a dead-last to her!

Whenever he came home late at night, she would be crouched in the corner of the small storeroom behind the Kimono stand. A dirty light of the candle would pass through the thin fabric of her night kimono, lighting up the small space she loved so much. There Naruto would find her, nose buried in some book whilst she desperately tried to replicate the drawing patterns on thick, homemade papers to make colourful lamps. Her hands were too unsure; they did not possess the expert fingers of an artist.

Naruto would try and coax her to come to bed, but she would refuse, looking repulsed. Then she would busy herself again, almost resolutely, with the old paint bottles—which smelt awful—by her feet.

His features suddenly contorted, and he grabbed a fistful of the greasy yellow hair, quelling his burning rage. She did not like him at all . . . just like how this village threw his family aside over that petty daemon incident. His father was shamed, and he had left the Hokage seat in disgrace.

Naruto had to bear the brunt of their hate. They looked down upon him, hated him for a faultless crime of birth. They talked as he passed by, and their venomous whispers wafted to his ears. They were filled with loathing that he even existed. He gritted his teeth, put his head between his knees, and felt that fearful heart (of a boy) pound in his ears.

"You are not worthless, Naruto," the voice rang loudly in his mind. It had a sinister ring to it, and it suddenly made every bone in his body shudder like a diabolical instrument. He was going crazy again!

His hands quivered, and he desperately tugged at his hair as if he was holding onto them for his dear life. His breaths left him quickly, and he opened his mouth wide to suck in some air. "Leave me alone," he said as his voice wavered like a drunken man's, who limped along the lonely road under night's dark mantle.

Suddenly, glass bells clinked against the front door and fresh Sakura blossoms' fragrance snuck inside the empty room: it was Sakura. Her presence calmed his internal struggles, and he was a whole man again. No longer dulled by the chaos of fear, his heartbeats sprang to life, thundering in his ears. If it was not for Sakura, he would have been lost to his own daemons so long ago. Naruto loved her, and she loved him . . . that was all that mattered.

Blood flushed in his face, and his cheeks burnt crimson. Even though he was well past his teenage, he still felt like a boy in her presence, a lovesick, naïve fool. There was such a thrill in their meetings, a rush of feelings and lust; his marriage was destitute of things he felt for her. She was the only one who made him reminisce about their days in the academy.

Sakura took off her slippers and came into the living room. A broad smile disturbed her features when her eyes met his. He had been waiting for her. "Naruto, you came early?" she asked and put fresh flowers into the empty vase filled with clear water.

It was a habit of hers. She bought fresh flowers from Ino's shop daily after the team's training with Sasuke, just before the sun came up. They were purple lilies—Sasuke's favourite. Naruto did not know, and she had no intention of telling him. Naruto scratched his head and looked at the flowers quivering in the morning draft that came in through the half-open window.

"Are those purple lilies?" he asked, smiling. "Sasuke likes 'em, too."

"Really?" she said, feigning surprise. "They are pretty flowers, I guess. A lot of people buy them." She let out a soft laugh and arranged the stems a bit absentmindedly.

"Yeah," Naruto leant back. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

Sakura turned around, her heart racing. Sasuke could not have said something to him? Her mouth went dry, but she kept up the pretense of mild surprise. "What is it?" she asked slowly, not letting her voice get swayed by emotions.

Naruto dropped his blue eyes to the wooden floor. "It's Hinata," he sighed out, "I think . . . I think she has a lover."

Sakura closed her eyes and let out a loud sigh, relieved. "Hinata?" she asked and looked at him intently.

He slowly lifted his blue eyes, meeting the green ones that always calmed his senses. "Sasuke . . ." he trailed off, averting her gaze and missing the look of dread hovering over her wide

eyes, " . . . he thinks she might look for one as I hardly go near her. Can you imagine the mess?"

"Hinata—does she?" Sakura asked, looking surprised.

"I don't think she knows about us, about any of this. But Sasuke thinks I don't give her enough time, so she might—" he broke off again, and clenched the fingers of his right hand, "—resort to an affair. It's only fair, no?" He looked up and grimaced as though he was in pain, blue eyes deepening with sorrow and anger. "I'm not kind to her. I asked father to end this, but—but he's so stubborn. It's not like it even matters what I say . . . " He turned his head away and gazed out of the window. She thought he wanted to say more, but he was silent now.

Sakura did not know what to say. A part of her felt Sasuke's stinging words forever bruise her ego, and a part of her felt strange. Were they not guilty of this, too? Sasuke was hinting at the worst possible scenario for Naruto. This would only put more burden on his father's sullied name; but she needed him now, more than ever. He would not understand . . .

She walked towards him and planted herself on the sofa by his side. She clamped her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "I'm sure Sasuke was just being irritating," Sakura assured, looking at his bowed head with a smile on her face. "You know how he likes to think he's always right. Hinata would never do this. You know how her family is."

Naruto looked up at her and schooled his tense countenance into a calm expression. "You're right," he breathed out, looking sure of himself, "Sasuke can be quite the prick sometimes. He's just trying to scare me." Then he let out a hearty laugh and breathed in the fresh morning air, deeply.

"You always take his words to heart," she said, ruffled his hair playfully, and kissed him on the tip of his freckle-covered nose. "You must be hungry. I was about to make rice-balls. We have to get ready for the long mission today. You haven't forgotten about that, have you? Sasuke said to come to his office before seven a.m., and it's already six."

Naruto's head snapped in the direction of the wall-clock. Then he nodded and created a soft smile in agreement.

# # # # # #

Warm sunrays were cast over the forest's vastness in the first morning hours. The mist was gone and the air was cool. There was a disordered cacophony of rowdy masses at the gates of Konoha: refugees; but he had left it behind to attend to his own business.

Sasuke stood on Naruto's doorstep now. His eyes wandered off into the distance, and he looked at the small portion of the moors: tall grass was cut off close by the roots and cultivated to yield crops. Sun was just rising above the horizon, sloshing red over grey. He had to get to his office before the clock struck seven.

In his hand was a scroll he received from Itachi last night. He fisted his hand and rapped on the thick wooden door—this time more forcefully. Something told him Naruto never came home last night. It seemed that luck was on his side. He wanted to discuss the matter alone with Hinata and having Naruto around would have only spurred him on to say angry nonsense.

A cool puff of air threw the crystals to the door, and they clinked loudly. He looked through the crystals worn thin by having been left outside for so long. Just beyond its dirtied surface was Hinata's silhouette. He leant his head to one side and found her emerging from behind the tall trees. She had a bucket in one hand and a sickle in the other.

Sasuke almost felt sorry for her ordeal. When she lifted her downcast eyes, she froze. Warmth whipped through her and reddened her pale cheeks; and her gaze beheld him without straying. She put down the bucket and sickle and toddled across the muddy field like a lost child.

"S-Sasuke-Sama," Hinata spoke, a bit breathlessly, "Naruto is not here." She looked away, embarrassed.

"Good," Sasuke said and looked down to her hands caked with bits of grass and mud, "I wanted to talk to you."

Hinata's head snapped up in shock, and her whole face turned red. "T-Talk to me?" she asked with hesitation.

"Yes," he said and adjusted the tall collar of Jacket. "I have to get to the office by seven, so I suggest you invite me inside to discuss this." He gave her a lopsided smile.

She hurriedly moved around him and nervously fumbled with the door latch before sliding it open. Sasuke stepped inside and smelt the fresh aroma of rice-balls sitting on the table untouched. She had prepared them for Naruto. "This way." She gestured Sasuke to the living room right across the hall.

"It's all right," he said and turned around to face her as she closed the door behind them. "We can discuss it here."

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked and put her hand to her breast. Her heart was racing—something did not feel right.

"I have received a letter of inquiry this morning," he began, carefully opening the scroll in his hand, "it's about your clan's involvement in an elaborate conspiracy taking place in the Mist village."

Hinata's eyes popped out in fear. Her mouth fell open but nothing came out. Surely, he was mistaken?

"One of the assistants of the current _Mizukage_ has a _Byakugan_ as his left eye. I know for sure that the eyes seal themselves as soon as any member of the Branch Family dies. How did he come to have a Head Clan's Byakugan in his possession?" he asked and cast her an accusatory look.

Red colour flew from her face, and she looked deathly pale now. She did not know what to say. "I . . . I don't know," she whispered and hung her head in shame.

"I could've conducted the investigation myself, but being the daughter of the clan's Head, I wanted to ask you first," he said, holding his gaze. "I don't want to bring this matter out into the open, considering your clan's present circumstances."

Hinata looked up, her lower lip trembling with emotions. Her eyes left the sharp sword on his back and found his exceedingly handsome face, which was shrouded by the last remaining shadows of early morning. He was still clad in his office clothes, and the letter in his hand was open; and right at its end was an Anbu stamp from his clan's acting Head to conduct an investigation into the matter.

"I know my clan isn't as prestigious as yours, nor are we that wealthy or influential, but," she stopped and struggled to hold back tears of shame, "w-we have our pride! I can assure you, it's impossible that my clan is in any way involved in the matter."

"I could take your word for it and even believe it word for word," Sasuke said and rolled up the letter, "but the council surely won't. The only reason I came here is for you to arrange a meeting with your father. Tell him I know about the matter and ask him to have some solid evidence in his defense."

"I could ask Naruto to help me. Minato-Sama might help—"

"Minato relinquished his seat over the daemon vessel mess, and Naruto?" he scoffed and took a long intake of breath, "he's too busy with Sakura. But I am sure you know that already. There's no use playing dumb anymore."

"Sasuke-Sama," Hinata protested, raising her voice, "i-it's a private matter. You shouldn't interfere!"

"He's getting slack," he said through clenched teeth, "it _is_ my business, Hyūga Hinata." His red eyes sparked with anger, and his features slightly twisted to show his discontent.

Hinata fell back against the door like the house of cards in a gentle breeze, her whole body shuddering with defeat. She had not accepted for so long that Naruto discarded her like a toy for a better one.

"It's about time you accepted your clan's place in Konoha and your own in Naruto's family. Minato only used you to wash away the stain from his own reputation."

"You—you're wrong," her words tumbled out of her lips. "Naruto may have left me, but he isn't that heartless. He won't let his father do that. And my clan is still—it's still respected."

Sasuke towered over her and placed his hand upon the door behind her. "It is, but if they don't come clean, you know where this will lead. Uzumaki and Namikaze will take Hyūga down to the depths of dishonour, painting them as criminals. The sooner you realize this, the better." His warm breath fanned out across her features, feathery light.

"Why are you telling me this?" she finally asked, looking up to locate solace in his red eyes. They were the coals in the hearth: warm and comforting. Why was he changing that now?

"I'm telling you this—" Sasuke broke off and narrowed his red eyes dangerously, "—to make you understand the gravity of the situation." He smiled suddenly, his face growing so mischievous. She looked back, and her heart tripped with confusion.

"I'll help you," he whispered, "just make sure you give your father my message. He would know what to do. Just be a good girl and do as I say." He backed away and opened the door to let the cold air in.

The cool draft tickled Hinata's warm bosom. She heard the door close but did not move to look his away. Her eyes finally darted around the room and found the letter left on the shoe-rack for her . . .

# # # # # #

Sasuke sat on the tatami-mat spread over the wooden floor. It was getting dark, and a large shadow beneath the roof was gradually making its way down to the floor. He turned his red eyes to the window and watched smoke come out of the chimney of an infirmary at the heart of Konoha's headquarter.

Cold winds were blowing inland, so the furnace was kept hot with fresh coal from the mountains to the south, to keep the sick and wounded warm. Sakura was in charge of the ward that fell under his command. One of his injured men was lying under warm sheets. He was a Rookie medic who nearly got himself killed trying to shield another man.

That gave him an opportunity to send Neji off for an investigation. It was a surprise attack during a regular training session—the attacker fled after throwing a few smoke bombs filled with poisonous gas at the team. They were lucky Neji was around; otherwise, he would have lost his entire team. Sakura was leading the Medic division . . . Lord Sage, his life was becoming so hard!

He skittered his eyes across the room and paused them on Hinata's fingers, which fumbled quite pointlessly with a single button on the obi, and then her father, who intently looked at the scroll Sasuke had brought for this clandestine meeting. Two unknown Hyūga ninjas sat behind the two, their faces shrouded by the evening.

The grim atmosphere was permeable to heavy tension. Hiashi's usual cold grey Byakugan eyes were stern, and a harsh frown creased his smooth forehead. Sasuke could see smooth lines of sweat on his cheek, glistening in the candle's flickering light. He did not look pleased, nor did he seem confident.

Sasuke's lips were sealed. He did not know why he even intervened so soon. Now was not the time; but he had to do something for Neji. He was his best man. If Neji was to get tangled in a political conspiracy—no matter how paper-thin it was for now—it would surely mess up the repute of his clan and his well-founded team.

So he waited and listened to the teasing ticks of the clock and watched the shadows play around the room under the sparse light of a few waning candles. Soon, a cascade of questions would follow this letter of inquiry, and then he would have to play the role of a reconciler. It was irksome and time-consuming, but he had to avert this crisis . . . for now.

Shame was something he always feared. Even the thought of it made his skin and bones shudder like a dry old leaf. Shame—something he never wanted to face or feel. His ears pricked up, and he wrinkled his nose like a cunning, wild fox. The clouds overhead had begun to let go of rain, and an earthy smell rushed into the large room as first drops of autumn rain fell down.

Sasuke brought his gaze back to Hiashi who had just rolled up the scroll and stretched his arm to place it on the small table put between them. Sasuke's cup was still untouched, and it seemed that the evening weather had left the tea cold. Hiashi picked up his own cup to take a small noiseless sip. His eyes tried to mask the seriousness of the situation, but to Sasuke's cunning gaze, his helplessness was laid bare.

"I," Hiashi began, his eyes glowing with their usual near-white colour, "I thank the Uchiha clan for giving us a chance to explain ourselves. We will be forever indebted to you." He placed the cup back on the table, and as a forced gesture of formality, slowly bent his head down.

"The Uchiha Elders are unaware of this," Sasuke said, watching Hiashi's features crumple and crack that calm mask.

"What do you mean?" Hiashi asked, uncertain where the young Uchiha prodigy was taking the matter.

Thunder roared in the sky, and a sudden blast of wind blew out the candles; but it could not subdue the flames burning with a new light in Sasuke's eyes. Hinata did not need to use her Byakugan to see them. They were visible from a few feet away, burning like embers. She could have sworn they looked different than usual—more intense, almost alive.

Sasuke moved his hand across his face to wipe away a few stray drops of rain. "I didn't want this issue to escalate, so I decided to investigate the matter myself. Once the matter reaches Root division, it will be out of my hands. I need you to present something convincing to stall this matter or bury it altogether. You know what I mean, don't you?" he said and leant forward on his left knee.

Hiashi narrowed his eyes on Sasuke and folded his arms across his breast. "I have taken the corpse out of the grave, and the seal records have been brought out of the storage as well," he said, lowering his eyes to the frayed parts of the tatami-mat. It appeared old compared to the beautiful, new wooden-veneer on the table, the cabinet in the corner, and the newly dug well in the garden. Even the bonsai trees were new. He felt so ashamed of that small old part of the mat.

"Can I see the sealing records?" Sasuke asked and stretched out his hand. His fingertips trembled slightly under the sudden spray of rain. He turned his head to the window forcefully opened by the wind. Then he squeezed his right eye shut as rain splashed the side of his face and neck.

Hiashi looked livid that the servants were still sitting, looking intently at Sasuke's eyes for some strange reason. "Why are you two sitting comfortably?" he said in a heavy voice, and they scrambled to their feet to close the wooden window that was colliding repeatedly into the fragile window-pane.

Sasuke dried his face on his sleeve and lit up the candles with a small _Katon Jutsu_. "It comes in handy when we are out of light supplies during training—or when such circumstances are simulated," he explained to Hiashi, looking at the puddle of water under the window. "I try my best to keep my team in form. It's tough being a squad leader, and Neji is an invaluable asset. You must understand, I can't lose him to such a baseless acquisition. Unless I don't see anything significant here, I won't take this matter to the higher-ups."

Sasuke's assurance made Hiashi heave a long sigh. He seemed relieved that the matter was under control. He closed his eyes for a moment in thought and opened them to meet Sasuke's gaze. The young man's solid, odd mask terrified him a little. "I understand," he sighed out with an air of relief and stood up. "Please, this way." He gestured with an airy sort of grace.

Sasuke got to his feet and adjusted the handle of a strange looking, long Kunai that rested in a holster tied down to his right thigh. It was made out of _Tamahagane_ with gold carved into it. White and red Uchiha markings were etched in its sharp edge on both sides. It was a gift from Itachi when he got selected as an Espionage Squad leader about two years ago. He never used it, but kept it as a good-luck charm from his brother.

Hinata walked ahead at a slow pace and held an old lantern in her hands. The corridor was narrow, and dozens of scrolls were hung on the walls. Their paints had faded away. They looked so dull now.

"The lights are out because of the storm," Hiashi explained and moved his head round to look at the light bulbs screwed inside a few traditional lanterns. They were out.

The corridor was wide enough for two people to walk side by side; but Sasuke kept his distance. He scrunched his fingers together and placed them gently on the holster. It was foolish to trust this man. He could be involved in _that_ conspiracy by aiding the new Mizukage.

Sasuke narrowed his eyes to tiny pinpricks of red, walking slowly behind them inside the shadows cast by their dark bodies. The light from the lantern was cut into two beams, landing on each side of the corridor, hitting the old Sumi-e scroll paintings on the walls. His desultory mind jumped from Root's involvement in the matter to the possible truth behind Hiashi and Hinata's justifications.

He was already closing in on Danzo, and his involvement in his clan's Police Branch massacre. He just needed a little push, and the man's head was his. He would revel in the feeling from seeing his old, wrinkled face frozen in agony on a stick. It was a joy he so wanted to relish. Sasuke tightened his hold on the hilt, and his eyes formed patterns of the never-ending light of _Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan_.

Hinata stopped before a large door and slid it open. A slight putrid smell escaped the room. This was where they probably kept the bodies before burial. It should have been filled with smells of incense and white wreaths of smoke, but the freshly dug body's odour was overpowering. Few tendrils of white reached out of the room and disappeared quickly in the still air.

"This way," Hiashi said and gestured Sasuke to step inside the room.

Sasuke took in a large intake of breath, as if he was readying himself for a plunge, and stepped inside. The room was fairly large: scrolls filled the large cabinets in the corners, and incense burnt around the body draped with a white cloth. He was unsure what he would even see in a man dead for more than a decade. This was a hopeless endeavour.

Two _Medic-nins_ stood close to the head. It appeared they had tried their best to rejuvenate the body to an extent that it was, at least, recognizable. It took a while for ninjas' bodies to rot. The chakra in their systems kept the body fresh for a couple of years before it fell prey to Nature's cruel mechanisms. If the chakra was potent, the decaying process was much slower. It was a gift for the dead who would not care what became of their bodies, which had no mind nor a soul.

Sasuke turned his eyes to Hiashi. "Why didn't you cremate this man?" he asked and pulled away the cloth to gaze at the man's grey face. Dark veins were bulging out in his face and neck: death, somehow, repulsed him.

Hiashi hung his head. "It was his family's request," he replied and pushed his hands into his long sleeves again. Next to him, Hinata stood tight-lipped, still holding the lantern in her small hands.

Sasuke pulled a scroll out of his pocket and handed it over to one of the medic-nins. They were from his own clan, people he could trust. Both of them were half-Uchihas by blood and never developed Sharingans, so they were put into the Medic-Squad instead. They were good at their jobs; and he was hoping that, one of these days when he would oust Sakura (and that day was not far), he would put one of his own in charge of the small medic team in his Squad.

The medic-nin already had another scroll spread open before him. He opened the scroll Sasuke gave him and placed it next to the other one. Then he made several hand-seals and analyzed the results from the residual chakra glowing on the man's forehead.

He rolled up the scroll and raised his head to look at Sasuke. "It's the same man, Sasuke-Sama," he began and touched the body's head to stop the flow of chakra. "I just analyzed the Chakra and DNA. It appears that he did belong to the Branch family, but a seal was not printed on his forehead."

"Good. Take everything with you and head back to my home-office," Sasuke said, cupping his chin. The men bowed before him, rolled up their scrolls, and left silently. "Why didn't you place a sealing-mark on this man?"

Hiashi remained silent for a few moments to gather his wits. "It was my father's decision. I am completely unaware of it," he said and brought his attention to Sasuke's eyes that were focused on the man's frozen face. He was thinking about something, and it was beginning to upset the Hyūga clan's leader. "He was my father's nephew. Perhaps he grew soft."

"Perhaps," Sasuke said with a smile, "but who knows—I'm not taking this matter to any higher-ups. But I will take Nii-Sama into confidence. He might know something about your father's decision. It was a time of war after all.

"Consider this matter dismissed from my side, but it isn't completely out of the way yet. You should try and look closely into your clan's matters during the previous Great War. It will benefit you more than me." He stretched his hand and covered the man's naked face again, hiding it from the living.

"I cannot thank you enough," Hiashi said with utmost gratitude. His face looked tired. The accusation had taken _such_ a toll on him overnight.

"Hinata," Sasuke said, diverting his attention to her, "you should come with me. Naruto might be back already. I don't want him to know about this. It's dark outside, and it's dangerous to go alone through the woods."

"F-Father, I—" Hinata stuttered in a childish voice and placed the lantern on the table, "—I should head back now."

Hiashi placed his hand on his daughter's head. He could see how the rosy colour in her youthful cheeks had faded a little. He did not want to press her, but he was sure she was not happy. He watched her with a rueful countenance as she shyly followed Sasuke out of the room. He looked at the waning candle that dribbled wax on the white cloth. Half of its wick was under the melted wax, subduing the intensity of the light. Somehow, the candle reminded him of his daughter's waning youth.

Sasuke and Hinata walked on the small trail strewn with yellow leaves, to her home. For the first time since her marriage, she realized how far her house was from her father's sanctuary. She looked at her feet and the slippers dirtied by the mud. The rain had almost stopped, and a few drops still fell down upon them from the leaves overhead. It appeared that the wind had slackened off as well and rain was letting up.

Sasuke walked quietly beside her. In one hand, he carried a strong flame. The light radiating from it hit the trail ahead, and she could see very clearly now. Her feet were getting numb, as unlike Sasuke, her toes were muddy and wet; but she did not complain. He had lent them a helping hand, even if it was because of Neji, she was still grateful.

Finally, after walking in silence for quite some time, her lonely house loomed into view. The overgrown grass on the field, and the portion she had cultivated, swayed in the slow wind under the sparse light of the moon. The lights were on, but she was sure Naruto was not home. It was an instinct she had developed over these years, but it never failed her.

They walked on the twisting trail and reached the front door. Sasuke took out the letter of inquiry and changed his eyes to a different pattern. Hinata watched in amazement as he opened his left eye wide. Blood trailed down the eye, and before she could even blink, a very small black flame converged on the scroll and it turned to ash there and then. It happened so fast!

"The letter of Inquiry is gone," Sasuke said, his voice breaking into her thoughts, "that solves one matter. Keep this a secret from Naruto. Don't tell him anything. Don't make him think there is anything wrong with your clan. Do you understand?"

Hinata nodded absentmindedly. He looked at her, huffed out a short breath, and mumbled, "Nii-Sama would kill me . . . "

And then he walked away from her at a slow pace. He disappeared behind the woods—just like he always did—and left her standing outside the door on the wet porch. Naruto was still not home. It was starting to feel like a habit . . .

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	5. A Trip to Mist Village

**Chapter Five** : A Trip to Mist Village

 **Warning** : Humour concerning the mockery of certain clichés.

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Rain dripped from the branches of a tall old tree, soaked through his shirt, and trickled down his back. Thick vines hung down like hair, wispy and long. At the base of the tree was a natural cave. Its bark was so thick that, looking around, Sasuke imagined it would be equal to several large trees. Low thumping sounds filled the hollow space, and beyond the sparse curtain of vines, stood Hinata with her husband.

He had asked her to accompany him to support Neji. He was still in the dark, so he needed her make sure that things remained the same; but he had to admit that she was really weak for someone from the Head family with a superior Byakugan.

Her _Taijutsu_ was truly abysmal, and her _Kekkai-Genkai_ _Jutsus_ were not any better. He was sure that any novice Chūnin in his team would swat her like a fly with his eyes closed. To top it off, she was still so sloppy with the _Thirty-Two palms_. Neji knew _Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms_ since his Genin days in the academy. Her Lion Fists were just barely decent . . . he frowned, thinking that this would be an irksome trip.

He knew the scroll he had burnt would lead to nothing but trouble with his brother. It was just another problem he had to worry about. It would take a lot to pacify Itachi this time. He knew . . .

The crescendo of babble and rain suddenly stopped with a loud rumble of thunder. The rainy season was here, and earthy smell of Konoha's soil permeated the space. Cold rains would continue for the whole season. Sasuke looked southwards, peering through the mist at the dense forest. Just beyond that were the vast moors, now wet with rain.

Hinata toddled her way to Sasuke and lifted the curtain of vines. "S-Sasuke-Sama," she stuttered and fiddled with her Genin jacket's zipper, "Neji-Nii went ahead to look for bandits in the a-area before us?" Then she said nothing and kept moving her eyes all over the place—anywhere but Sasuke's face.

"I sent him to scout out the area. He left Konoha a day before us," Sasuke said, not meeting her eyes.

Hinata bit her lower lip and said nothing. Sasuke felt a slight wisp of rain and wind across his face and shuddered a little. His hair whipped across his cheeks. He fetched a sigh and looked at Hinata's veins popping out around her eyes: she was using Byakugan.

"Just make sure he stays out of the way," he said and breathed in the soothing smell of the tree bark. "When we reach Mist, his job is to stay outside with Sakura and keep a look-out for any rogues. Clear?"

She nodded absentmindedly and lowered her head to hide her flushed cheeks. Her Byakugan could see the monstrous and intense chakra rushing through his body like wild tidal waves; it was unlike anything she had ever seen before. She could almost feel it move through her own body—something palpable, alive—another hungry parasite living and breathing like tiny million bits inside his body.

But . . . it was also different, a fatal cyclone that sought to drown her sensuously, delicately, sweetly to her death. She raised her eyes ever so slightly as if she could not see it clearly. The more she looked at it, the more intense it felt. It was not like parasites; no, it was like something magnificent and beautiful and deadly, caressing her skin from under the flesh and bones and blood and soul … blent and intricately woven together through natural mechanisms inside his body: a lusty and mischievous daemon, living and breathing right under his skin.

She had seen Uchiha Chakra before. It was always far more intense than what the other clans possessed. They were known for their potent, powerful chakra. It was no secret. It was _this_ chakra that made their eyes special, made them dangerous, made them formidable and alluring; but not like this. Nothing like this.

She felt as though his chakra was sucking the last threads of her thoughts into a black abyss, and a mere look into that maw left her breathless and needy for more—a delightful blend of intense fear and raw lust to see more and feel more gripped her.

Was his chakra always like this? She could not remember. This was, probably, the first time she had seen it with Byakugan and experienced a sensuous feeling from looking at his denuded spiritual energy. Suddenly, sounds of Sakura's soft laugh broke her thoughts. She turned her head to her and saw her ruffling up Naruto's messy, wet hair.

Naruto was blushing and he looked happy. Hinata turned her eyes away and began to gaze beyond the wet leaves at the Water Country. It was surrounded by lakes and rivers that opened up into the sea. It would take them another day to reach it. Sasuke had already sent a small hawk to Mizukage's guard Ao. He had returned Sasuke's message that the meeting was approved along with the time and number of people he could bring into the hidden village with himself. It was still being treated as a clandestine affair by both parties.

Sasuke looked down at her, and a small frown crept over his face and lips. He watched as she flinched in a silly manner at Sakura's peals of laughter. Her shoulders heaved with anxiety, and she began fumbling with those damned buttons on her jacket again. She did not want to leave them alone. It looked as though she was about to pass out. Sasuke palmed his face; this three-way drama was getting on his nerves. He could not believe he would have to play the role of a reconciler in this absurd relationship for the time being.

"Hinata," he began and watched as she slowly turned her sweaty face and saucer-like eyes to him in slow motion, "go and ask Naruto to make some _Kage Bunshins_ to scout the area and meet ahead with Neji. What's taking him so long? He should've met up with us by now. You should go with him. Use your Byakugan and find him quickly. We need to look for a place to set-up camp for the night. I don't think the rain will stop."

Hinata slouched and picked her way daintily across the muddy grass. She nearly slipped a few times before she finally stopped to talk to Naruto. Naruto sprang to his feet with a huge grin on his face and shouted, "boss!" He made three Kage Bunshins and jumped up onto the tree branches with Hinata—all of them disappeared quickly behind the dense drape of leaves.

A small male hawk flapped his wings and landed on a branch just at the mouth of the cave. It fluffed out its wet feathers, scraped its beak against the rough bark, and let out a melodious sound to let Sasuke know that it had made it back to him. It was very small in size and white as snow with faint gray spots around his eyes—so small that, sometimes, Sasuke carried it to his Clan's bird sanctuary inside his jacket. It was one of the many his Clan kept, but this one was his own. It was very rare and very small—a gift from his brother.

He moved the vines out of the way and held out his arm; it hopped onto it, stared into his eyes, and then slightly fluttered its wings to sit on his shoulder. Sasuke removed the tiny tube carrying the message from under its right claw and took out the rolled message. All arrangements were complete, and the Mizukage had agreed to share the details of war with him given the circumstances. The peace treaty was in effect and neither side wanted to turn this matter into flames of war.

The hawk nipped at Sasuke's earlobe playfully: it wanted a treat from him. Sasuke smiled and took out a few small dried-out meat chunks from his pocket. "You've become so diplomatic, eh, Kirin?" he said and stroked it lovingly with his fingers.

"So you _do_ have a bit of love in you?" Sakura asked in a mocking tone from a few feet away. She was leaning against a frail tree; the storms had not been kind to it.

Sasuke shoved his hand into his pocket and took out another message. "Make yourself useful and stop wasting time," he said in a heavy voice and slightly raised his eyes to look at three other men busy with their own tasks. He rolled up the message and slipped it inside the tube. Then, twisting his arm a little, he tied the tube around its claw.

"Still as cold as ever—I wonder if you even feel desire," she scoffed, almost childishly, at the bird he was treating with such love and kindness.

Sasuke did not say anything in response and carefully plucked a leaf from one of the branches poking out of the lower end of the bark. The leaf was quite large and had clear rain water on its surface. Its mid-section was almost like a smooth round cup with water slopping around. He moved it towards Kirin; it tipped its head down and drank to its heart's content.

These hawks were trained to drink only from their masters or from streams or brooks. Sasuke used it to send messages to his brother when he went out hunting up north. It was an effective way of keeping his whereabouts a secret, and the language he used in the messages to his clan could only be decoded by a Sharingan.

This was _why_ he brought it along: it would take messages to his brother, and he would be aware of the whole situation. Sasuke raised his hand, and the bird eagerly jumped onto his two fingers. He could barely feel its weight. He nuzzled his nose against its breast playfully and stroked it again. Kirin was a good companion.

"Off you go," he said, and the bird flew off towards his brother's office. He would get the message in less than fifteen minutes; Kirin was lightning fast.

Sasuke scrunched up Ao's message and burnt it with a very small _Katon_ _Jutsu_. It turned to ash by his feet. He looked over his shoulder with a knitted brow. Sakura was still standing there, looking at him for no apparent reason. "Do you want to go home, Sakura?" he asked and turned around.

Sakura opened her lips to protest, but he cut her off swiftly, "I'm warning you to drop this sass. It's getting on my nerves. Go and do your job," he said with irritation on his face. She wanted to say something, but did not, and walked off to one of the team members to look over their supplies.

Neji landed not a moment later with Naruto and his three boisterous Bunshins in tow. Hinata landed on her feet a couple of seconds later. Neji's veins were popped out on his face. He relaxed them by turning off Byakugan.

"I'm back, boss!" Naruto pointed out the obvious and ended the technique. The three Bunshins disappeared, leaving loud sounds of cackles behind.

Sasuke looked at Neji and spoke, "you took quite a while," and started walking away from others.

"I apologize, Sasuke-Sama," Neji replied, walking in his wake. "It took a little while to check the entire lake for any secret entrances."

"There should definitely be one according to the records. Did you find it?" Sasuke stopped under the dripping leaves and desperately tried to hide that ghostly smile.

"Yes," Neji said and lowered his voice even further, "there is one right beneath the Buddha Statues underwater. It would be difficult to notice it with _Dōjutsus_ as it's covered with an invisible Chakra. Not even Ao would be able to see it."

"Do you think he's aware that his eye doesn't function like yours or Hinata's?" Sasuke plucked another large leaf with cool water in it. He moved his head back, parted his lips, and tipped the water down his throat; then he gave a satisfied sigh.

"No, not a chance. They would need a Pure-Blooded Hyūga for that," he explained and took the leaf from Sasuke's hands and drank water from its tip. "Sasuke-Sama, if you don't mind me asking, what's this really about? I thought we were here for Chūnin Exams' preparations?"

"We are," Sasuke broke off and rested his back against the tree, "but there's another matter, too. I don't want you to concern yourself with it just yet. I'll tell you when the time is right. You have to trust me on this."

He nodded but still looked worried.

"Just make sure no one else gets a wind of this. We're only here for the Chūnin exams and nothing else. Leave the rest to me," Sasuke said and made his way to the two ninjas that came out from behind the tall bushes. They had found a decent place to camp for the night.

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Sasuke tossed a dry twig in the fire. It crackled and the flames rose just a little. The rain had finally stopped. It took them a while to set up camp: the ground was muddy, and that made it impossible to hammer pegs deep into the ground. He sat with Naruto on a dry strip of grass. The tree branches overhead were so thick that he doubted rain ever made it to the ground.

When he tossed another one in from a pile next to him, Naruto spoke, "just use your damn Jutsu, man! At this rate, I'll freeze my balls off before I finish chewing this rubber-crap you brought along." He raised the bowl high and created an ugly, sarcastic grin on his face.

"Those are the usual mission rations. You're not getting the fine restaurant treatment out here," Sasuke shot back, annoyed. "And why would I use my Jutsu for no reason at all? What is it, some sort of circus act? You damn well know how missions work. Don't be foolish."

"You know, leave that to me," he spoke with his mouth full, nodding, "I'll treat everyone to good meals when we're out on missions."

"What? Your ten different types of pork ramen? Yes, everybody would love that," he said and twisted his lips into a scowl.

"Better than this sandal-rubber, you grouch," he said and tore at the rubbery meat with an expression as if it was the worst thing he had ever eaten.

"You know, when you finally shed your milk teeth and develop a bit of lowbrow brains, it might dawn on you that the ration money is limited for every team," he said and stretched his lips into an acidic smile, "but your amazing skills in mathematics and economics have it all figured out. Go ahead and have at it. If we last one day on those supplies, I'll weep tears of joy before the entire team without shame."

"So it's going to be like this today, huh?" Naruto said and wiped the grease off his lips, "you, bullying me over something stupid? Did you fight with Sakura-Chan again?" He leant his head forward to meet his eyes.

"Yes, your cheap bond is _so_ special that I can't help myself from assuming the role of a villain to tear you two apart," he said, feigning mild shock and remorse.

"What did you eat today? Your _Nii-Sama's_ crows?" he asked with wide eyes, looking surprised and a little angry.

"Naruto, I've told you many times not to talk about Nii-Sama like that," he said, getting angry. He got to his feet and brushed away bits of dry grass from his pants.

"A'right, it's a touchy subject for you, I know—just sit back down, damn it!" he said and grabbed his hand to pull him back down.

"How far off you on that _Fūton-Rasenshuriken_?" Sasuke asked suddenly and sat back down.

"What do you mean?" Naruto asked and put the empty bowl down on the grass. He crammed down a few mouthfuls of bread and wiped at his mouth again.

"Are you able to throw the damned thing or not?" he asked and threw another branch into the crackling fire.

Naruto tapped his finger on his lips as if he was deep in thought. Then he scratched his head and parted his lips in a huge grin. "Not there yet," he said and quickly turned his nervous laugh into a cough at the sight of Sasuke's blood-shot eyes.

"You know what, Naruto, I've just about had it with your flippant attitude," he said and held up one finger, "you have about one month to learn how to throw your spinning ball of chakra, or you are off my team. Do I make myself clear?" Sasuke created a wry smile on his face and got to his feet.

"Sasuke –wait, I can—" Naruto began and his face broke out in cold, "you can't be serious?" He slowly raised himself to his feet and created a nervous grin on his wrecked face.

"You think I'm joking around?" Sasuke asked and met Naruto's rueful eyes with a cool expression on his face. "I guess you don't seem to see the gravity of the situation. Shikamaru's team is already so close to filling our spot. And here you are, dropping down the repute of my team even further with your silly trysts. I just read your mission reports and you haven't improved one bit." He turned his eyes very slightly and saw Sakura standing under the soft drape of shadows some forty feet away; her face was tense, and it seemed as though she could hear his voice.

Naruto was quiet, his head hanging in shame. He did not know what to say. "Nii-Sama is already angry with me over your progress. You know how difficult it was for me to get you on my team? I had to _beg_ before him. You don't even seem to care. What about that rank you keep prattling on about to break free from your family?" he asked in a rugged voice and moved a little closer so that they were face to face. "Is that not important anymore? Nothing matters to you beyond your persistent stupidity to play with her?"

Silence was Naruto's only answer. Sasuke inched in a little closer and whispered, "you will destroy yourself over this affair of yours. Her family and yours will eat you alive. Don't say I didn't warn you." He backed away and turned around. He stopped when he found Hinata standing a few feet away from them. Her eyes were a little wide, but it was hard to read her face. He did not say anything and walked off to his own tent.

The mist was rising and becoming quite thick. Hinata walked up to Naruto and clamped her hand on his shoulder. Neji had already gone off to sleep. The rest of the five ninjas had left the area about an hour ago. Naruto jerked his head up and looked at her. For a moment, the softness in his blue eyes swayed her heart.

"Na-Naruto-Kun, you should come with—I—" she broke off, unable to complete her sentence—something held her back.

"You should go to sleep, Hinata," Naruto said and looked away. It seemed as though he was expecting her to say something. "I'm going over to the lake to practice. You shouldn't stay up too late." With that, he left and disappeared behind the wall of mist, leaving her confused . . .

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	6. A Vicarious Thrill

**Chapter Six** : A Vicarious Thrill

 **AN** : The depiction of Voyeurism (and the act of masturbation performed by the voyeur) was fairly common and popular in **Shunga (erotic art):** It means 'spring pictures'. It's that many _shunga_ prints portray sexual acts in springtime.

 **Warning** : Voyeurism and Offensive Humour.

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Morning light had yet to break the night sky completely when Sasuke and his team reached the borders of Hidden Mist Village. Owls hooted on treetops behind the dense leaves, the low slanting branches were touching one of the brooks that ran out of the village. Sasuke dropped his gaze and looked around his feet. The mist was quite thick and seemed to spread out from around his sandals.

He turned on his Sharingan and scanned the area: three people stood vigilant at the gates, and one of them had Byakugan in his left eye. He cracked his cold knuckles and made his way to the gate. The man who had his Byakugan out and ready immediately recognized the red in Sasuke's eyes. He walked beyond the safe boundary of the gate flanked with two clear streams on both sides and loomed into view, breaking the thickening mist around him.

"Welcome, Sasuke-Sama," he said and bowed. His eyes wandered slightly towards the crinkles around Hinata's white eyes and back again to look at Sasuke's eyes. "I hope your journey was comfortable. I am Ao."

"It was as comfortable as it could've been given the rising mist," Sasuke said and took out a small scroll from his pocket. "Take this to the Mizukage. I hope everything is arranged?" He shoved his hands into his pockets; it was quite cold here.

"Yes," Ao said and looked over his shoulder. He threw the scroll over to a much younger man carrying a very large sword on his back. It was hard to imagine that man standing stiff on two thin legs, but he made a long leap and disappeared out of sight—an impossible feat for a man of his short stature. "I have arranged the rooms for your stay and the breakfast. I think it would be—"

"No need," Sasuke interrupted, "most of my team members would stay outside the village for everyone's safety. Matters have been quite delicate with other villages. I think it's in everyone's interest if things went along smoothly here." He blinked and turned off his Sharingan—now his eyes looked murky black in the mist.

"I understand," Ao said, gazing at the other members and narrowing his eyes. He pulled the patch over the eye that had the stolen Byakugan and looked to Sasuke. "I will arrange for proper tents and food for the rest of your team."

Sasuke turned around. "Neji, you stay behind with Sakura and the rest. I'll send Hinata out if I need anyone else," he ordered and moved his eyes over everyone. He stopped them momentarily on Sakura's pink face. It seemed as though she had not forgiven him for his sharp tongue. Her face relentlessly worked with anger; it was accustomed to such mechanisms. He created a small, playful smile on his face. Leaving them behind, he followed Ao into the mist with Hinata.

His eyes had not deceived him; the inside of the village was beautiful: bubbling brooks and small streams moved over slick stones and mossy boulders stuck deep in the rough bed; an assortment of the watery tricks of nature made everything sound almost musical; sun was sluggishly climbing up to the horizon (its rays shimmered on twisting streams, so much so that everything around him danced like pearls); even the mist shone as it broke away under the assault of the rising sun.

They stopped at the open iron-gate of a large house. Two burly guards stood outside the large double door. "These are your guestrooms," Ao said and gestured the guard to open the heavy door. "I have arranged for breakfast and warm water. The other rooms are still available if any other member of your team decides to stay here."

Sasuke looked up at the Kage's office: it overlooked the entire village and stood tall between two waterfalls. Dense fog piled up around its pillars—it looked as if it was floating on clouds.

"The time of the meeting?" Sasuke asked, keeping the fatigue buried under his calm countenance. "We need to get it out of the way as soon as possible before we can discuss the Chūnin exams."

"It has all been arranged. I will send over Chōjūrō at noon. He will escort you to the Mizukage's office," Ao explained and adjusted his thick patch as if revealing it before a Hyūga could be taken as a sign of shame.

Sasuke did not say anything and made his way inside the house. Hinata walked behind him. The inside was spacious and beautiful—warm and cozy. This house must have been used for political guests. Hinata scanned the entire area for anything unusual but found nothing. "Sasuke-Sama, I have—" she whispered, puffing from the long haul to this house, "there i-is nothing here."

Sasuke raised his hand to silence her. "Go and rest. I think they'll call us by noon," he said and left her standing there in the hallway. One of the guards stood outside his room. He stepped inside and closed the sliding door. It was a warm room, spacious and lavishly decorated. Sasuke felt as though he was transported to his family house in the northern part of the Fire Country.

A traditional water-colour painting hung inside the alcove, and a warm brazier was placed on a beautiful mat. He looked over to the paper-screen and the sunlight spreading shadows of trees on the wooden walls. A large breakfast was set out on a small table right next to the sunken fireplace. A plume of mist rose from the pot's mouth—the tea was still warm.

Sasuke closed his eyes and sat down on the cushions. It would be quite a while before the Mizukage would call him for the meeting. These were just the perks of being a dictator of the village. He smiled to himself and poured out tea.

Noon came quite fast; sun hung low over the village. Most of the mist was gone and left behind little traces of white that still hovered around the buildings. Sasuke sat inside the Mizukage's personal office with Hinata. The room was large and it opened into a traditional garden. A well stood behind the tall grass. Whenever wind blew, a whistling sound escaped its mouth. It led somewhere or, perhaps, it was just empty? He could not really say for sure.

Voices travelled into the sitting room, and a moment later, a woman in a blue dress made her way into the room. She had very long reddish hair and green eyes. She was young, around her early to mid-thirties, he imagined, and quite pleasing on the eyes. Sasuke gathered himself to his feet when her mischievous green eyes met his.

"Ah, Uchiha Sasuke," she said with a musical lilt to her voice. "You of the Uchiha have such handsome faces." She laughed and tapped her finger on the painted lips. She was being needlessly flirtatious.

Her comment was so odd for an official, but Sasuke managed a smile in reply. "Your village is quite beautiful," he said and glanced at the sparse mist's drape over the straggling town that spread out north where a large river began.

"Perhaps we should keep you here as well, because I do not think this village is as beautiful as you," she said in such a seductive voice, eliciting a small laugh from Sasuke and a frown from Hinata.

Next to her, Ao and Chōjūrō looked quite embarrassed at their Kage's brazen attempts at flirting with an official guest. Ao cleared his throat loudly and began, "Mei-Sama, this man is here to discuss _that_ grave Hyūga matter."

"Do not interrupt—I am aware," she said sternly with a wave of her hand and sat down on the fluffed out cushion. Seeing her knit forehead, Ao bit his own tongue and silenced himself. It was for the best as Mei's temper flowed faster from her pretty mouth than the Lava.

"So the Hyūga matter? You do not think it is a little too late to dig up old skeletons, Sasuke-Kun?" She licked her lips and wiped away the small lipstick smudge that wandered just outside her luscious lips. She was _such_ a beautiful woman.

"Old Skeletons . . ." Sasuke repeated and settled himself down opposite Mei. "Was this matter handled by Yagura-Sama?" His expression hardened when that blush faded from her lovely face. She looked away for a fleeting moment and then returned her eyes to his face again, looking impatient.

"Yagura-Sama . . ." she paused and gathered her courage to speak, ". . . he was made a Mizukage at a very young age. A lot of poor decisions came from being sidelined as a young man that housed the daemonic essence. I'm sure this matter is no secret to Konoha that we meddled with it, as well." She cupped her chin, thinking over what to say next on this delicate matter.

Sasuke's lips were sealed tight. He listened intently. Could it be that Root was involved in this matter, too? It was too early to tighten the noose around Danzō's neck. He needed more, so he remained quiet in hopes of finding something from Mei as words, delicate words, tumbled from her lips.

"During war," Mei continued and kept her gaze locked on Sasuke, "many died, and to shore up our defenses, we took what we could from scenes of carnage. That Byakugan was one such gift left in the wake of the last Great War. Konoha has many, too." A ghostly smile played about her lips as she waited for Sasuke to say something.

"Are you justifying something that could escalate into a political conspiracy and spark an unwanted war between the two Villages?" Sasuke asked, and his expression hardened at the riddle weaved by her.

"Of course not," she said quickly and placed her hand on the small table before her. "I am just telling you the reason why the eye was even kept. There is nothing suspicious behind it. Your officials worry without a reason."

"Someone like me can't afford reasons that border on such lofty ideals no matter how much I want it. All of us are tethered to systems. Even you," Sasuke said and immediately narrowed his eyes. "All I need is some proof that the Clan from my village was never involved. I don't see any reason to lend my ears to your political matters. It would only worsen the situation and tangle matters even further. I doubt even _you_ want that."

"Uchiha Sasuke," Ao broke in with a harsh accent, "you're speaking to the Mizukage. Show some—"

"It is all right," Mei said, silencing him. "You are honest and quite flexible. I love lissome men. I will help you." She ran her teeth across her lower lip playfully and put up one finger. "But on one condition. You will not ask for any matter concerning the exploits of war that go beyond Ao's prized possession. Those do not concern you as you said yourself. You can only concern yourself with proving the Hyūga Clan's innocence. Do we have a deal?"

"Your conditions are quite steep," Sasuke said in a low voice, thinking. If she did not say anything else, then there was little room to get something out of her about Root. It was a dead end—for now. "But it seems like a fair bargain. As long as the Clan is saved from shame, the rest doesn't concern me."

"Then it is settled," Mei said and threw a smile that was somewhere between shy and lustful. "You two can stay here in my house to see documents from the previous Great War, and the rest of your team can stay in the other house. We have many guard ninjas that prowl at night. You needn't worry about unwanted unpleasantness."

Sasuke nodded and got to his feet when Mei stood up. "I have some official matters to attend. I suggest you wait till nightfall for anything else on the matter. You are aware that very few people know about this situation. I do not want this to be a public affair. I am sure you must have treated it in the same manner."

"It was the wish of the Clan's head. I'm just honouring it," Sasuke said and turned his eyes just a little to look at Hinata who was twiddling her thumbs—again.

Mei smiled and left the sitting room with her guards. Sasuke turned on his Sharingan to look through the walls. It was safe for them to talk. "Make sure you go through everything thoroughly. We won't get another chance. Make this count if you want your reputation to remain unblemished," he whispered and walked out of the sitting room.

Hinata's eyes followed his every step till they could no more. She looked outside at the garden and then lifted her gaze skyward. Sun was red in the sky. It was strange how she was thrown in the midst of this all. What if nothing came out of this meeting? Her heart skipped several beats, and she felt tears go down her cheeks. She stifled a sob and clutched at her breast . . . the thought pained her.

# # # # # #

Hinata blinked and stared at the scrolls with tired eyes. There was a deep stoop to her back as she examined a large pile of official scrolls arranged before her: exploits of war, the obituaries, the number of lost men; the equipment used; the medics who aided in many ways—it was all here. The three candles on the table before her waned, their flames rising high on the blackened wicks. She would have to change them again soon.

She inhaled sharply, feeling helpless. She had rummaged and rifled through more than half of them. Sasuke helped decipher most of the important scrolls written on political matters concerning Byakugan. She checked all of them word for word—the dates, the people killed, and the people who died in her Clan at the hands of Mist ninjas. Her precious clan. It was a feeling of emptiness that engulfed her. This was when her Clan lost its strength and, perhaps, even its honour.

Hinata's nimble fingers moved over each line of another long scroll spread out on the large table. She shifted in the chair, her legs dangling over the floor; she was not that tall a woman. There was a strange insignia next to the Byakugan symbol on the scroll she was reading now. She did not quite recognize it. Perhaps it was something the Mist Village's coders used for secret messages.

A tall shadow loomed from behind, and she instinctively turned her head to look over her shoulder. It was Sasuke. He stepped into the light of the candles; half of his face was covered by the room's overwhelming darkness. He looked to the sky beyond the window and then steered his gaze towards the clock. His hazy lips moved to speak: "you are still here?"

Hinata looked ahead and rolled up the scroll. She had read through it. "I—" she fumbled for words as usual and then held the scroll firmly between her hands, "I w-was going through this one, Sasuke-Sama. It has this strange symbol I don't recognize. P-Perhaps you know what it is." She stretched her arm and gave the scroll to Sasuke.

Sasuke unrolled it, not caring that the long paper fell down to his feet. He ran his eyes quickly over the page and caught sight of the symbol. A familiar look of realization flickered in his eyes before it disappeared. He rolled it up again and gazed down to Hinata. "I don't think it's of any concern. You can check the remaining ones tomorrow," he said and threw the scroll on the pile that lost its shape as some of them fell down to the floor. "I'll call in Yuu. He will copy the important ones. If necessary, Neji can—"

"No," Hinata cut him off in a loud voice, quickly getting to her feet. "Don't tell anything to Neji-Nii. He—shouldn't k-know anything about this. Please, I-I beg of you." She clasped her hands together and hunched her shoulders pleadingly.

A few thin lines momentarily creased Sasuke's forehead. He kneaded his brow silently for a few fleeting moments and opened his deep black eyes to meet hers again. His entire visage had marked itself permanently in her eyes: the soulful eyes, that handsome face—they made embers of desire smoulder within her. She remembered again . . . in the darkness of so many nights, the burning coals, and the wild, young blood in her began to boil under her skin without shame.

"Look," he began in a mellow voice and placed his hand on the table, "I understand you don't want Neji to know anything about his family's involvement, but if this escalates, Neji and everyone in your clan would be shamed. You should understand that. I'm not too thrilled to include Neji in this mess, but if it can't be handled by me alone, then I would have no choice but to take him into confidence. This isn't a game, Hinata."

That sudden flare of desire died quickly. Hinata lifted her eyes a little, peering through her hair, head bowed. She did not want him to see her face that was streaming with tears. She remained quiet and fought back the sobs and nodded slowly when she felt that he was looking at her to say something in response.

"Take these scrolls to your room. Never mind," Sasuke said and shook his head, "I'll ask Yuu to carry them for you. Sleep tight—don't let anyone bite." He pushed his hands into his pockets and left the room. The large door remained open, its steel catching the light of full moon—it was a beautiful night.

Hinata wiped her face on her sleeves and gestured Yuu to take the scrolls to the room upstairs. He grabbed all the important ones, curled his arms around them, and made his way out. She was staying there for the night, but she wanted to meet Naruto. Maybe . . . maybe he would sleep in the same bed with her tonight (the way husband and wife did). He had been training tirelessly for the whole day.

She looked at the clock hanging on the wall in front; it was just past one a.m. An optimistic smile forced itself to her lips, and she ran out of the room. She was being a fool. She strode past the front door, playfully jumped over the large stones that made the pathway, and stepped onto the small bridge over a stream. Naruto was standing there, his elbows on the handrails as he looked down to the clear water just below the bridge.

She held her breath and took a few slow steps over to him. The wooden bridge creaked under her timid steps. She put her hand on the cold steel handrail and looked at Naruto's blank face. He was lost in thought, staring down into the darkness hanging over the water beneath them. The lamppost close to them flickered, and a swarm of insects flew around it; its light had grown dull.

The wind was light, and she could only hear a whispery shush of leaves now. She moved her white hand a little closer and tilted her head to look into his blue eyes, which gazed into the empty space before him.

"N-Naruto-Kun, are you all right?" she asked and watched as he turned with a start; a grin broke out on his sober face, and he scratched his head the way he always did when he was nervous.

"What're you doing out here?" he asked, patting her head as though she was a child. "It's cold out here. Look at the mist—it's rising. I can't even see my own hand!" He raised his hand and waved it a little, breaking the mist into a zig-zag pattern.

She put her hand to her breast and her heart fluttered. A blush appeared on her white cheeks, and she turned her head a little to hide her shyness. "I-I came to check on you," she said and lowered her eyes to look at the clear water, too.

Naruto took in a loud intake of breath, puffed out his chest, and exhaled loudly. Beneath the broken light of the lamp, she saw his blue eyes so clearly. He had such deep ocean-blue eyes. It brought out a different kind of feeling from her. Sasuke's eyes were dark, foreboding, chilly—almost sinister, almost lusty. They drew such curiosity out of the other to peel away that veil of pretend-play from them. She did not think she was ever successful. His eyes were so beautiful and deliciously seductive, but they were also so cold and dangerous—they were a lure to draw someone in . . .

Naruto was different. His eyes were warm. He was not a good looking man, but she loved him for he was a thoughtless, blundering man full of hope. He was almost twenty-five but still so innocent. She remembered Sasuke often mocked him for being too naïve when he came by their home. Naruto would only laugh in response. He was a simple man and he had simple desires. Hinata clenched the fingers of her right hand—his desires simply did not have enough room for her.

"I came to talk to Sasuke," he said, breaking into her thoughts, "but Ao said he had already gone to bed. So I guess—I guess I came here. I just wanted to get a little fresh air." He raised his hand and took a whiff of a Sakura flower held delicately between his thumb and forefinger. He breathed in deep and closed his eyes as he relished the soft smell of the delicate petals.

Naruto turned to her and his eyes twinkled in the light. There was a broad smile on his face. He looked happy now. That flower calmed his senses. He did not seem to see the shock appear on her face. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hinata," he said, still smiling, and walked away from her.

He took a few slow steps, and the darkness swallowed him. The light of the lamp was not strong and bright enough to cut the dark fog. Hinata pulled her eyes away. She had no desire to turn on her Byakugan to look at him and see if he really was as naïve and innocent as Sasuke believed him to be.

She clamped her lips together and swallowed the sob rumbling painfully in her throat. She knew he did not love her, but to see him carry around the flower that constantly reminded him of her was like a dagger through her heart. There was nothing left to see. She put her hand upon her mouth, her eyes burning, and before she knew it, she was running up the stone pathway to the house on the small cliff.

Hinata slipped and grazed her knee badly. Blood oozed out of the broken skin. It burnt, but she did not care and scrambled to her feet as though she was being chased down by a madman. Finally, she stopped running and breathed in loudly a few times to even out her breathing. She slumped exhausted over the small fountain and made a scoop of her shivering hands.

She splashed her face repeatedly and finally caught her wind. The last sob shook her like a child deep in sleep before the chill of fresh water made it feel like a passing daydream. The feeling vanished, and she felt that she had completely died inside. Naruto did not love her—the thought finally made a shaky home in her breast, and her heart beat no more even if she thought of the memory again.

Lifelessly, Hinata dragged her feet inside the house and closed the heavy door behind her. She squashed her back against the closed door for a few minutes and breathed in the aroma of incense in the sitting room. A few grey swirls still lingered around her. She found her senses and breathed in and out ritualistically, trying to throw the thought out of her system; but the memory clung to her mind like a swollen leech, drinking her sanity, emptying her of the last bits of honour left in her.

Her head spun around, an impassioned dervish, and she flung herself to her right to break her fall. She sank down to her knees and then pulled herself stubbornly back up again. Her ears rang with Sakura's laugh and Naruto's chuckles in the forest yesterday, the harsh sounds of his breaths on the bridge when he had sniffed at the flower. He had betrayed her, shamed her, dashed her honour to pieces. Their marriage was nothing but a prison for her.

There was a menacing silence all around her, but her ears pricked up at the faint sounds. Her mind loved the distraction and she chased them. Sasuke . . . that was all that whirled in her mind. She wanted to find him. Her eyes searched for him, and her body yearned for his touch. It was so foolish to think this way, but she did not care. It was just desire—a silly, silly desire—to feel the heat of his body. (Hot coals burnt bright in her mind tonight.)

She stopped next to the large door that led to Mei's room. It was slightly ajar. She hid herself behind it like a child and peered at the back of the room. It was a small sitting room attached to the bedroom. Faint sounds wafted to her through the half-open sliding door. There stood Sasuke in black trousers without anything covering his torso. The sleek lines of his body were punctuated by the glowing orange lantern sitting on the side-table.

He was roughly pushed against the wall by Mei who stretched on tiptoes to place a kiss upon his neck. He buried his fingers in her red hair and bent down his head to cover her lips with his. She responded eagerly and pulled him close as though he was a toy, biting his lip hard enough to make him taste blood. He pulled down the net-dress she wore and helped her step out of her gown that crumpled by her feet.

Mei stood almost naked, gripping Sasuke's shoulders. He buried his face into the soft flesh of her neck and moved his hand up between her shivering thighs to cup her genitals through her underwear. Hinata's heart raced, her fingers gripping the cold door's handle tightly—palms slick with sweat, breath catching in her throat. She pressed her hand to her breast and kept looking, unburdening herself of Naruto and his memories—their empty memories.

It was so shameful to look at this free-show, this exhibition of lust, but the desire she felt for him made it easier to throw away her honor and enjoy the spectacle before her; it was as though he had arranged it just for her, asking her to join him in the old, old dance just for the sake of decadence and pleasure.

So she watched as Mei lay on her back on the large bed, naked. Her body covered with sweat. Sasuke kissed her breasts and his hands played with her thighs. He moved lower and lower. Hinata felt the sticky wetness at the junction of her own legs. She was getting warm. Her face was red and blood pounded in her veins. Her heart was so loud that she thought someone would hear it beat—that it would burst if it beat any faster.

Hinata clenched her fingers into a firm fist, shaking, watching as he kissed her wet core. A moist flood appeared on her inner thighs. She was getting a vicarious thrill out of watching him pleasure another woman. She wanted him to do this to her, make her feel desire, pleasure . . . unbridled and without end.

Mei's lips parted with a moan, her back arching off the mattress, as Sasuke continued to kiss her between the thighs. She stretched her arm and played with his messy hair that was spread out over her white thighs. Hinata shook all over and her vision blurred and her ears filled with a static sound; her whole body was numb with desire now.

Something ached between her legs and it hurt, and she thought that the only thing that would end it was to be filled by him so completely. She pressed her hand down hard on her lips and stifled the sounds, eyes enjoying the scene, thinking that she was there beneath him, waiting for him to complete her. The dull pain there was intensifying in such an odd manner that it felt as though it was steadily rising to a crescendo, waiting for something to overwhelm it.

Sasuke pushed himself inside of her and moved roughly. The last bit of will left Hinata as she watched Mei wrap her legs around his waist. She moved back silently and ran to her room. She did not stop till she made it safely inside. She closed the door and locked it securely, fearing that someone saw her standing outside the door.

She fell down on her bed and buried her red face in the folds of the new bed sheets. Her heart continued to beat loudly before it finally found its right pace again—that silly mind continued to play everything over and over again. No matter how hard she tried, she could not bring up Naruto's memory: it got buried underneath the new one her body had grown so fond of.

Minutes passed, and when her body finally felt the chill coming in from the window upon itself, she rolled onto her back. Her eyes looked to the ceiling, and she moved her hand over her genitals and pressed it down a little. It was still throbbing there, but the pain was gone. She gulped down the cold air in the room and closed her eyes; and as if something had exhausted her, sleep had her in its clasp almost immediately.

# # # # # #

Sasuke lay under the warm sheets with Mei rolled up into a ball right next to him. He opened his eyes, the red in them tearing away the darkness in the room. His Sharingan had fooled her so badly . . .

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	7. Gears Turn

**Chapter Seven** : Gears Turn

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Without any thought in mind, Sasuke's eyes opened. The red there refused to accept defeat before the surging darkness in the room. Turning his gaze, he espied an owl hooting behind the weighty branches covered in the most delicate, fresh green leaves. He saw its life force very clearly.

Next to him, Mei was curled up like a caterpillar in a cocoon, sleeping peacefully with heavy sheets lying over her naked body. A map of glistening sweat, along with the bite marks he had left, covered her freckles-dotted pink-ish skin. Just next to the bed, a small flame guttered desperately on the thin wick. The oil in the lantern was nearly gone and so was the magnificent splash of blue light in the room. It would die away within a few minutes. He knew it.

Sasuke inhaled the odour of their conjoining, still heavy in the warm air, getting a little hard at the prospect of going for another round. _There will be another time_ , he thought and smiled to himself. He would not lie: Mei was the most beautiful woman he had ever slept with. It would be such a waste to taste her just once.

It was easy to conquer her. All he had to do was give into her silly seductions, and there she was, not a moment later, vulnerable and pliant in his arms—so fragile before the horrific illusions of his daemonic eyes.

Down and down she went, trapped in the narcotic land of dreams he wove. He needed to be close to the well. It was too obvious: Hidden Mist Village was ruled by a foolish coquette. Sasuke pushed the sheets back and got out of bed. He skittered his gaze around the misty area beyond the room. The halls were empty, Hinata was fast asleep in her room, and two guards were right outside by the brook off yonder. That was too easy—almost too easy?

He bent down and wore his sandals and picked up the jacket he had taken off a few hours ago. All the tools he needed were still inside. He checked them one last time and opened the window. A wave of silver light filled the room. Overhead, the sky flashed a few times. It would rain again, and this time, it would come down as a mighty storm.

Sasuke placed his hand on the window pane and jumped out. He closed the window behind and flashed up to the empty well. Its mouth was gaping open, and a whistling sound rose up from its dry depths. It was not a very long drop. He scanned the area quickly and leapt down to the stone-covered bottom. He landed smoothly on the gritty ground and ran south, following the tortuous path ahead of him. It was dark, but the flame he carried on his palm was enough to light the way.

The path under his feet was mostly dry, but thin trickles of water ran down the narrow roof that was nothing but rocks and gnarled roots overhead. It was dark, cramped, and smelt earthy. Sasuke's ears pricked up at the sounds of rushing water. Just as he had thought: the well led straight out of the village. It was probably a safe passage to hide the Kage and important officials when all was lost.

When the sound of water rose to a melodious crescendo, he knew he was close as he drew near the white and foggy mouth of the long cavern. Light came in through the twisting roots, and a large lake lay quiet beyond them. Its surface was slightly ruffled by the wind—the rolling waves, calm and pristine.

Sasuke moved the roots out of the way and stepped into the light. He bent his head and looked down into the depths of the lake, his eyes tearing through the murky layer easily. There it was, the secret entrance to the hidden underground hideout. He stepped onto the water, looking up, feeling the cool wind in his face.

He stopped the chakra supply to his feet and plunged down. A powerful shudder ran through him. The surface above him rippled, carrying frothy white foam and a few bubbles; and the darkness underneath was a watery abyss that waited to swallow him whole. He swam downwards and kept his gaze locked on the two large Buddha statues and a big sacred stone wedged between them.

Sasuke stopped, floating alone midst the darkness. He leant his head back and watched as the silver light of the moon gave way to the powerful darkness, which rose from the depths below him. The last shaft barely caught the side of his face—silver moonlight in his right eye. He moved his hands and feet and swam ahead, looking at the chakra threads that guarded the entrance like an intricate web of a spider.

He swam upwards and went through the space between the chakra wires. It was enough for one lean man to swim through (probably for the guards who brought the necessary scrolls and items here). Soon, he found himself in another cavern system. These were underground caves. He could hold his breath for thirty minutes, but this was a bit risky. He had to be careful; otherwise, he would drown in here, leaving a mess for his clan to clean up. The shame would haunt him after death.

Mist was a village full of fools. His Sharingan could see the residual chakra left by the ninjas. It was like a trail of breadcrumbs—far too easy to see and track for his eyes. He saw the guards standing over the well late at night. They must have come here for the Hyūga scrolls; otherwise, the trail would have been lost in the water. Wisps of chakra swirled around him and glowed in the water like puffy little jellyfish.

He looked at the space around him: it was illuminated by luminescent stones set deep in the pathways. The bubbles shone were like fine jewels when the light passed through them. He doubted this was something done by the village; they must have found this place somehow . . . an underground shrine, he imagined, defiled by the greedy men of this village. It was heretical.

After swimming for a good ten minutes, he finally found the mouth midst the labyrinth of caves. Any man without his eyes would have been lost here. He rose up slowly, his face touching the surface and breaking the still water. He breathed in a lungful of air that was redolent of incense. He focused his chakra and pulled his body up and stood on the surface. Beneath him were the same paths and the light blue glow of smooth stones.

Everything seemed ordinary and decrepit here. Many statues had crumbled to dust and few others were missing various parts. Sasuke built up massive chakra and released a large wall of Katon around him. It dried him off instantly; it was not wise to leave behind muddy sandal-prints for the _Intelligence Division_. They were fools but no one was that foolish!

A few stray drops trickled down his wet hair, but it was not enough to create a trail. He placed his feet on the stone entrance and made a long leap straight for another large stone, covering the entire distance with ease. He did not want to leave anything behind.

After the third jump, he landed in a room with a few chambers. One of them was open. The guards must have left in a hurry when he demanded the scrolls and made those accusations. Was it _that_ easy to galvanize Mei into action and make her spread those lovely, lovely legs wide for him? A smile twisted his face, and a haughty look flashed across his countenance. Women were such an easy game . . .

He stepped in, never leaving the anchor of confidence his eyes assured. There were chakra prints all over the trunk by his feet. The chakra was disappearing fast, evanescent like a fleeting scent. He squatted down and opened the chest and looked inside. It was strange—the chest was almost empty save for a few scrolls stamped with a Hidden Leaf symbol. Did she really divulge all to avoid a possible war with Konoha? He was convincing!

He looked through the scrolls and finally found something that interested him. The scroll bore Root division's stamp: Danzō! He found a few more stamps on the scrolls piled neatly inside the old shelf. It was made up of dried bamboo. That was all he needed to build something up. The gears were turning in his head fast. Suddenly, like the forking branches of ink that grew in the paper from a single drop, a whole scheme emerged from the depths of his thoughts, winding and twisting into a ripening plan that carried the tidings of Danzō's cruel fate—a succulent summer's fruit that awaited the autumn's sun to fill it with a rotting sweetness and grant it vengeance's ripe shade. All he needed were a few more pieces and that man's heart, his black heart, was his.

Sasuke took out a few empty scrolls from his pocket and made quick hand-seals, copying the words on the blank paper. They got covered with intricate patterns, and Danzō's fate was prematurely sealed. It would not be long before Mei woke up; he wanted to leave her in a pleasant illusion without the nuisance of paralysis. Such tricks left bouts of mental and physical pain in its wake. He placed the scrolls exactly where they were before; then he rearranged them meticulously and left the exact way he came.

When Mei woke up a few minutes later, her hand landed on Sasuke's breast. The trip back to the well was easy. It took him less than half the time to make it back before she woke up and the guards came back to check up on him and Hinata. She moved closer to him and pressed her lips to his, kissing him, her tongue eager in his mouth. He clasped his arms around the small of her back and pulled her close. Feeling her breasts press against his flared his youthful loins almost instantly.

He pushed Mei onto her back and pried her legs open for another round. It did not take her body long to allow him to enter her again. When he touched her genitals, he felt the delightful seep of her moisture. He needed this more than she, so he enjoyed her thoroughly . . .

# # # # # #

When morning came, it was business as usual—just another day in his life that demanded that little change, that little excitement he always craved. Mei provided it this time, but soon, she would begin to bore him. He was this way with sake, too. When he tasted it once, he always liked something new to touch his lips next time. Swilling down the same thing every day simply made it trivial. But she was different. She was a feisty beauty, and he always enjoyed tasting unique, strong sake from time to time.

Mei lumbered around rather awkwardly in her office: her beautiful legs had a mind of their own. Her guards seemed to know a little too much, but that was a matter of her own. Her political affairs were none of his affairs. He looked around when Mei sat down cautiously on the mat opposite . . . Hinata was not here. Perhaps she overslept?

"Naruto and others are waiting . . . " Ao's voice trailed off as he stole an embarrassed glance at his Mizukage, " . . . outside the village. The supplies are ready."

"Thank you," Sasuke said and looked at Mei whose face was whipped with worry and a delightful blush. "I've given the Chūnin exams' scrolls to Ao. He said you're content with the arrangements?"

"Yes," Mei said, cleared her throat, and covered her neck with a delicate shawl, which hid the marks of her adventurous night. "I would like for your Hokage to consider two more officials from the Water country. They have given funding for the Ninja Academy's improvement. It's only fair that they are invited." She held her gaze, her face scrunching into a scowl . . . and he did not know why.

"I'm afraid it's not in my power to give permission or disallow this. You can give me the official letter, and I'll hand it over to the Hokage myself. Then it's up to her to decide," he explained, looking at her blushing face. She was trying to search for something in his face, but his veneer was too thick to break under a woman's prying eyes.

Mei cupped her chin and considered it for a moment. "It seems appropriate," she said, her voice laced with a hidden desire only he could whiff out. When she would come to Leaf during the Chūnin exams, he would make sure to invite her to warm his bed. "I have asked Ao to arrange for the letter. It should be ready any minute."

Sasuke got to his feet. "I've got to check up on Hinata. She has been rather feverish . . . since last night," he said with a pregnant pause.

"Yes, yes of course," Mei said hastily and rose up to get to her shaky feet. Her genitals were aching dully since last night. "Would you like to stay here for dinner?"

"I'm afraid not," Sasuke said and averted her gaze to look outside, "I have to hand over the report to the Hokage as soon as possible. She gets pretty sore—otherwise." With that, he left Mei standing in the living room.

The sun rays were bright and strong when he reached Hinata's room. He made a firm fist and knocked. Silence. She was still sleeping. He knocked again and spoke, "Hinata, it's time to leave. Unless you plan on staying here?"

Hinata's eyes opened suddenly, and her whole body convulsed with a strange excitement that still lingered inside her. His voice stole its way over to her, and she knew she desired him—it was befooled by the spectacle she saw last night. She was trembling from the chill in the room. She had fallen fast asleep and remembered nothing other than his aloof passions.

"Hinata," came the voice from beyond the door, and it sounded so eerie now, "are you awake? If you aren't feeling well, I can send in a Medic. Sage knows I can't handle these monthly female troubles."

"Y-Yes," Hinata said weakly and wrapped her arms around herself. The room was under the mantle of morning cold. She looked at the fireplace; only the last coal was burning in the entire pile. The smouldering flames would go out soon. "I'm fine. I—" She slapped her feet onto the cold wooden floor and swayed a little, balancing herself by gripping the bedpost. She reached out a trembling hand towards the door and opened it quite unwillingly. Sasuke's stoic face greeted her tired morning gaze.

"You slept in?" Sasuke said as if talking to himself. "Strange, how a woman that plays in the moors forgets to wake up." He turned around and gave the door a little push and closed it behind him.

Hinata's body felt the burden of truth. His gaze was boring into her. She backed away and stood with her back against the wall. "I-I was a little tired," she finally said and dropped her gaze to her feet at the sight of Sasuke's eyes and a delightful arrogance that hovered over them.

"Where were you last night?" he suddenly asked, looking at Hinata's face that was sweaty despite the chill in the room. "I told you to stay in your room. But you wandered off—and even peeped at things. How naughty."

Hinata jerked her head up, her eyes widening. Pink colour flew from her cheeks and lips. She looked numb, almost dead under the weight of embarrassment. "I didn't mean to. I-I'm sorry, S-Sasuke-Sama. It won't happen again," she said, fumbling for words. Her lips trembled—tears finally broke through and went down her cheeks.

Sasuke towered over her and placed his hand on the wall behind her. "Don't tell anyone," he whispered and contorted his features into a more serious and deadly look. "I mean it. What you saw, doesn't concern you. There will be terrible consequences—for me and for you, if you did. Bury it deep in your heart and forget it. You will do us both good. Your family's honour depends on it." Then he moved back and stared down at her as though he was waiting for her to say something.

Hinata's nose was red, and she absentmindedly fiddled with the bracelet around her wrist. "You—" she broke off and stifled a noisy sob, "—that day, you told me to do exactly as you a-asked. Why?"

Sasuke narrowed his red eyes and turned his gaze slightly to look at Ao walking up the path with a letter in his hand. "Yes," he said after a long consideration, "you're easy to tease. To see . . . if you actually felt anything underneath this foolish, aloof wife act despite the whole discarded daughter affair, and the obvious embarrassment it has brought you. What did you find when you rushed off to see Naruto?" He smiled, looking at Hinata's defeated eyes. She could not speak at all . . .

"Your silence is enough. Play the cards yourself. This is your chance to wash away the stain left on your Clan's reputation by the Namikaze. What better way than to string the arrow of shame and drive it through Minato's heart who arranged for this whole unfortunate marriage to save himself and his sullied name," he went on, his voice heavy in the small room, "whether you choose to remain foolish or not is within your grasp." Then he left the room without another word.

Hinata remained silent, and her eyes travelled around her feet. Her ears buzzed with Sasuke's words even after he had left her alone in the room amid the corroding silence. She was too easy to play with. Sasuke was right: Minato had poured this poison into her life—she had to fight back!

# # # # # #

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	8. A New Leaf

**Chapter Eight** : A New Leaf

 **AN** : Characters' failures and motivations, along with the reasons behind them, will not be revealed that quickly—it'll be a gradual process.

# # # # # #

A berry fell down from the tree in a cascade of dry leaves. It was rotten to its core; the seed was useless (it was not a good seed) as it would never be able to sprout roots and grow into a tree and bear fruit—in summer. It fell close to Sasuke's feet, who paid it no mind and continued to look at Naruto trying his hardest to carry out a seemingly impossible task.

Naruto clapped his hands together and made the usual sign that had become a regular cliché for him. He created two Kage Bunshins. In less than half a second, another equally confused Naruto popped into Sasuke's field of vision and smiled from ear to ear—it was always the same spectacle.

But Sasuke was patient. He leant his head into his hands, and his eyes drooped under the burden of yesterday's journey. It was the wee hour of the morning, and the sky was just beginning to show a magnificent red colour on the horizon. The forest was still under the mantle of mist. It was a sombre sight, almost pristine. He pulled his head back and held his gaze, waiting for Naruto to show him something—anything. It was, sometimes, a great struggle to take the man seriously.

"Oh, wait!" the original Naruto exclaimed and slapped his own forehead, "I've got to make another one," and then he proceeded to create another clone.

"Naturally," Sasuke droned in a sleepy voice. He intended to view this talent-show in the evening but Naruto insisted. Sometimes, he wondered: _were there any perks of being the Head Jōnin of a team?_ The whole matter was a children's story—more myth, less fact.

Finally, what felt like eons to Sasuke, Naruto held out his hands and faced his palms out; and his clones began making spinning gestures over his palms. First, a _Rasengan_ swirled into view, and then a new elemental chakra whirled around it. Both of them melded and conflated into a spinning, blade-like chakra formation.

Sasuke craned his neck and tried to look interested. Naruto had done this before, but he never could maintain it for long, let alone throw it in any direction at whim. His noisy clones jumped back, and Naruto took a cautious stance, hunching his shoulders and moving his arm back to throw the spinning chakra at the rocks in front.

Sasuke stood straight with a start, unfolding his arms. His eyes glinted with curiosity. Naruto threw his arm forward, and the chakra detached itself from his hand; it whirled forward and cut clean through the rocks in front. Sasuke's Sharingan switched on automatically and peered through the misty forest to look at the _Rasen-Shuriken_ cleaving the mist and tall trees before disappearing into thin wisps some fifty feet to the North.

A subtle expression scurried across his face, and he brought his gaze back to Naruto. He was impressed. "Not bad," he said and slapped the side of his thighs to rid his pants of small dry leaves. "Still, a bit late, don't you think?"

"You're never impressed!" Naruto said in a happy voice, wearing his trademark happy-go-lucky expression. "How do you like that? Impressed, huh?" He widened his eyes and kept that smile impeccably pasted on his face.

"Terribly," Sasuke returned and ceased his hearty smile. "That doesn't mean this wasn't long overdue. Stop slacking—that's all." He turned around and started walking out of the open field he had reserved for his team's training.

Naruto jogged behind him and then slowed down his pace. "I'm—never mind. You look grumpier than usual. What's eating ya?" he asked, scratching his head.

"Nothing that would concern you." Sasuke halted in his steps and returned Naruto's warm gaze with ferocious calm. "You need to drop Sakura. She may get released from my service soon. I don't want you weeping on my doorstep like last time."

Naruto's smile sagged, and his eyes swam with the usual concern. He looked desolate and desperate already. "Why—why are you doing this? She might get transferred to another village in the Fire Country. You know I won't be able to see her that way! How can you do this?" he pleaded, and his faced convulsed with the burden of longing and distance. His emotions were almost palpable for him to bear.

Sasuke closed his eyes, sighing. "How long do you want me to entertain your little romance?" he asked, meeting Naruto's clear blue eyes with heavy intensity. "This isn't a game anymore. You're not a child and neither is she. She failed her medical trials last week. I got the results just last night. On what grounds should I keep her? That you—you simply can't get enough of her? You know this isn't a good enough for me."

Naruto bowed his head and clenched his teeth. "You . . . you know I love Sakura. You let her go and what's left for me? You just don't understand. You never have," he said and turned his head away, his voice laced with defiance and anger.

Sasuke put his hands upon his face and breathed heavily behind his sweaty palms. "When will you grow up? When?" he asked in a heavy voice and pulled his hands down. "You know this matter is big. Your family's repute is at stake— _your_ repute is at stake here. I don't need to tell you this over and over again. Why don't you understand? I don't want to let you off my team at the cost of Sakura. Nii-Sama is just looking for a reason to discharge you. Don't make this more difficult for me."

Naruto peered through the haze of resolve hovering over his eyes. His ears did not want to hear reason. "I care about you, Sasuke. You are like a brother I never had. And—" he broke off and stifled the burning surge of emotion in his breast, "—no one can ever take your place, not even Sakura. But I know you have never thought about me that way. But Sakura . . . she sees me. You just can't understand my feelings." Then he stared off into the distance.

Sasuke remained silent, looking at the man sagging at his knees. He did not know how to answer. Naruto was infatuated with Sakura and felt this strange sort of . . . pure love for him that he never understood. Naruto's confession always left him without words. He searched for them tirelessly, but when the moment came to let them spill forth from his lips, he lost them to uncertainty and cutting silence.

Nothing broke Sasuke's expression. He simply turned and said, "go home to your wife. Tell her I want to talk to her about joining the team. I'll drop by in the evening. We'll talk some other time." Then he walked away and left Naruto behind in the clearing—midst the huddle of trees to fumble for words and thoughts. He had gone through this so many times. Naruto's words and his eyes broke his resolve. He did not know how to get rid of Sakura without breaking Naruto. It had to be done. Something had to be done!

# # # # # #

"I could always do without the extra distractions," Sasuke said, standing straight before the leader of the Hidden Leaf Village.

Tsunade looked up from the scroll on her table. A large stack lay untouched next to her sake cup. She rolled it up gently and clasped her hands together. "You don't seem to like her," she spoke in an accusatory tone that did not seem to break Sasuke's ready-made expression. "I don't think this is just about the test."

Sasuke let out an audible _'humph'_ and sharply turned his head away, not trying to hide the scornful smile that broke his expressionless face. "Is that what she told you?" he asked, letting his red eyes burden her body and mind. "I'm fully aware that she's your student. Perhaps your feelings are affecting your judgment."

"Don't be so direct, boy," Tsunade retorted and her features contorted in anger.

"You want diplomacy instead when only a moment ago you asked me to be candid?" he asked slowly, grasping this small moment of candour. "I'm not too fond of the quaint customs of the Hokages and the ready-made conveniences they offer, but I'm well aware of my own rights as a Head Jōnin. You forced her on me when it was _my_ choice to select any Medic as I saw fit. Why?"

Tsunade breathed in sharply, her jaws went tense, and her eyes remained transfixed on the red in his. They pulled her gaze towards them—so enchanting and mesmerizing. They were like two spectres within the reality of reason with their endless red lust and allure. Uchihas—the ugly mystery of this world.

"What are you trying to say?" Tsunade finally asked and found herself straining to break completely free of the powerful eyes that almost swam in the darkness of the room. "I made her stay with you because you had already appointed Naruto. A team that worked together as Chūnins would only strengthen itself as Jōnins. What other reason could I possibly have?"

"Is that all?" Sasuke asked and brought out that flare of anger on Tsunade's face. She could be read so easily. "Whatever the reasons, I don't want her on my team anymore. She is clouding Naruto's judgment and his performance is falling apart because of her expensive paramour status. Didn't she tell you?" Sasuke feigned innocence and watched her with wicked sarcasm on his face.

"What is this?" Tsunade stood up slowly, looking livid. "You would go this far?"

"I have no reason to slur on her tiny reputation. It's Naruto I am worried about. Whatever happens to her is none of my concern. If this matter gets out, Naruto would be ruined. The burden of Namikaze has already sullied his reputation. When will you stop her—when he drowns in all of this? Would that make you happy? I doubt you don't know about her little trysts."

"Enough!" Tsunade shouted and slammed her hands down on the table. It cracked at the legs and started wobbling. She buried her face in her hands and stood still for a moment to get her wind. A few seconds passed, and she finally moved them to look at him staring at her impassively. "This isn't about Naruto. It's about you, isn't it? You're worried about your _own_ reputation. Sakura would never go this far. I know her."

"You can never know another. And I don't care what you think of me. Honour is not made overnight nor can it be bought. It's something precious and irreplaceable. You may not understand this, but I do. More than half of my family was murdered for this village's sake. I wouldn't let Sakura smear her adulterous antics all over it. Either you put an end to this, or I will. This is the last time I've come to your office for this," he said heavily and walked out, not waiting for Tsunade to speak out in Sakura's defense.

Tsunade slumped down in the chair. His accusations shook her body. Her fingers trembled as she closed them around the sake cup. She brought it to her lips and took a few sips absentmindedly. She was lost for words and had so few thoughts to spare. She had brought up Sakura as if she was her own. She would never betray her this way . . .

Sasuke gently closed the door behind him, and his eyes immediately caught sight of Sakura standing next to the pillar a couple of feet away. For a few fleeting moments, he held his gaze and poured out the malice in his eyes. He did not say anything and left the corridor with stiff long steps. Sakura's eyes followed his steps till he disappeared behind the door; then she closed them and tears poured down her face.

# # # # # #

Naruto stood on his doorstep under the dark sky. It was spitting, and the stone-trail that left the front-door was covered in wet. The small stream's stone-bed by his house was scoured out by cold water that came down from the mountains. These stones were once carved out by the finest Konoha's craftsmen for his father. They used to live here. Now their outlines had diminished beyond recognition, worn thin . . . like his father's reputation.

He bowed his head and his face trembled. He fell forward suddenly and hit his head on the hard wooden door. "It's her fault. She did all of this," the cunning voice echoed in his mind. "If she wasn't here, you could have been free—free to do whatever you desired." Naruto clutched at the handle feebly, his slick fingers slipping on the door.

"Look how she abandoned you today. Didn't let you play with her. Get rid of her. Then you can have Sasuke. You love him, don't you? He's so dear to you—a brother you always wished for. A family you never had. Your mother and father have only made you miserable, haven't they?" the voice resonated as if in an empty room and bounced off the walls of his consciousness. "Kill her. Kill this bitch. She's just a whore who is using you. You know this. She always loved Sasuke, never you. You were useless, you dead-last." It laughed and the eyes glowed, serpentine in the darkness that spread and spread in his mind, rising from the bottom like a filthy sludge.

"Leave me a-alone," Naruto's voice wobbled as it tore from his lips. He trembled all over. An icy chill scurried up his spine, freezing him to the bones. It was _that_ voice—he was going mad again. He clutched at his heart as if it would stop beating if he did not. It pained him. Even his breaths burdened him greatly. He was being suffocated to death.

Naruto parted his lips with an animalistic snarl, baring his teeth. His hands flew to his mouth. He tasted blood as new teeth moved inside his mouth. Long canine teeth jutted out of his gums, and his eyes turned to slits.

"Get outta my head," he hissed, feeling detached from his human self. His backbone twisted underneath his skin, and he fell down on his knees, cringing before a more powerful master.

"Run . . . run . . . run," the voice said deviously, tempting him, "run . . . run . . . run . . . but you can't hide." Then it burst out into a hideous laugh and suddenly went silent.

Naruto's vision focused on his hands caked in dirt. His head was bowed, and he was on all fours on the stone-path. Cold wind blew up his shirt from behind. The strange chill left him again; he was at its mercy. He mustered up the courage and wiped his dripping face on his sleeve. Putting his fingers in the sliding door's handle, he hitched himself up and rapped on the door.

He did not hear anything before the door slid open and revealed Hinata. She looked shocked to see him home at night—tonight of all the nights. "Naruto-Kun," she said as if questioning him and held the door open as he stepped inside. He did not say anything and silently took off his sandals and marched off to their bedroom.

Hinata slid the door shut and locked it from inside. She traced his steps and found him sitting beside the lamp on the floor with the same lamp-paintings scattered about it. The room was dimly lit and used paint brushes were in the glass-battle filled with water. She had finished painting one before Naruto's knock came upon the door. This felt like something completely different from their usual routine. She kept looking at him, and he returned her gaze with the same empty eyes . . . not saying anything.

Feeling that she should say something, Hinata breathed in and parted her lips to speak: "would you like some tea, N-Naruto-Kun?"

Naruto's eyes remained the same, but he moved his hand and tapped it lightly on the mat. She looked at him absentmindedly, moving her gaze to and fro like a pendulum between the spot he touched and him. When he did not say anything, she moved her feet and slowly sat down beside him. There was nothing but silence between them, broken and sawed by the rumbling sounds of thunder and the wind that hissed like a thousand feverish snakes, their vibrating coils snarled up in a decadent frenzy of an old ritual.

Suddenly, Naruto moved his hand and wrapped his arm around Hinata's waist and buried his face in her neck. At first, he breathed heavily, nuzzling against her neck, but then he opened his mouth and kissed her. His lips were parched despite the rain outside as he gently kissed her shoulder and moved his hand to touch her breast.

He squeezed it gently and pulled her closer. Hinata felt disgusted. Her fingers trembled. His lips left a searing pain of betrayal on her skin and it burnt; it hurt so much. To think that she was something he would entertain himself with when Sakura abandoned him. She was nothing but a toy in his arms, and she was through being his second plaything.

When Naruto moved his hand between her legs, Hinata pushed him back. Startled, as if some sort of haze had cleared from his mind, he moved back, wearing a hurt expression on his face. He was still quiet, lips clamped shut as though sealing so many of his secrets. His fingers clenched on the mat, and he turned his head away, his countenance warped by shame and humiliation.

"Do I . . . " he said with an air of defeat, " . . . disgust you _that_ much that you won't even let me come near you?"

"I'm just tired . . . " Hinata's voice trailed off, and she looked towards the paintings, pulling her Kimono up to her neck as though to hide her skin from a man that was not her husband. "I bled the last time you tried. It just hurts. M-Maybe, maybe there is something wrong with me. I would see Shizune-San about this."

Both of them remained silent. Naruto's head was hanging in defeat. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, feeling repulsed that she had rejected him—again. Sakura did not want him and his own wife did not want his touch. Maybe it was right—that thing festering inside him like a tumour. It was eating away at his soul, his resolve, and his _Self_. He was getting empty day by day. How long would it be before he would lose himself before its evil?

The thought frightened Naruto, but that insidious malice unfurled again—he let it leak and consume him this time. It held him in its clutches and entranced him. With extreme sluggishness, Naruto got to his feet. He staggered, limping a little to the left like a drunken man before regaining his balance. He moved his hand through his hair and looked down. His eyes had lost that emptiness, and, now, they were filled to the brim with loathing. His lips twitched oddly as he looked at Hinata with contempt. His eyes were beginning to terrify her.

"Sasuke wants to talk to you," he said with infinite calm, keeping the lid of resolve on his emotions that began to bubble and boil to the surface as if in an aged cauldron.

Hinata's eyes darted all around the room, her gaze elusive. "What does he—"

"I don't know and I don't care. Who knows what he wants with the likes of you," he cut her off sharply and left the room without saying anything else.

Hinata scrambled to her feet and ran behind him. "Naruto-Kun," she called out and stopped close to the main door. "Where are you going? I-It's late and—still raining. You should stay here. At least, until the storm lets up."

Naruto wore his sandals and threw open the door angrily. He stood there for a few moments in the wind, gritting his teeth. "Your purpose is to give me an heir for my family," he began after gulping in a deep breath, "that's the only reason I married you. You and I both know that. The sooner you accept it, the better. Unless you want to shame your father that you can't even bear me children."

"N-Naruto-Kun," Hinata breathed out and stared at him in disbelief. No matter how aloof he got, he never talked to her in this manner—he had never hurt her with words. Sakura had poisoned him, and she could not turn to her father for help as long as the dagger of conspiracy was hanging over her head. She was left swaying between the daemon and the deep blue sea. Her lips trembled, and a sob shook her before she suppressed the rest completely.

"I don't want you to refuse me my right next time," he spoke from the door, his gruff voice carrying itself over the noise of the wind. "No one would accept a barren woman if I left you." He cast a hateful smile at her and closed the door behind him.

The light burning in the room dimmed as the wind rushed in. "A barren w-woman?" Her voice shook her as she fell back and hit the wall behind her. She stood there for several long minutes before her feet moved in a sluggish manner. They met the floor as if having a mind of their own. Soon, her eyes found the same familiar room and the same paintings and the same brushes.

Her pride finally crumbled under Naruto's hateful words. Their truth rang loudly in her ears. Yes, her father had cast her away to save his name. Did he know about the conspiracy? Did he marry her off to save their families' name? She slumped down to the floor, and slapping her hands against her cheeks, she cried hoarsely. She was trapped in a limbo with a man who did not love her and there was nowhere out. She could not leave . . . where would she go? Who would claim her? Where would she find solace?

Hinata's sobs convulsed her as she desperately tried to regain control, breathing in and out loudly to calm her breaths; but the tears kept coming, shaming and humiliating her that she was no better than a woman cast out from a clan to bear an heir for another. She put her head between her knees and let out all the grief behind the shattered wall of innocence. She had nothing left and no one to save her from drowning in this unforgivable abyss of solitude. She was just a tool to save the names of two clans . . .

"Hinata?" said a voice that came from beyond the room, followed by soft steps on the mat. The voice carried itself to her on cold wind rushing in and out of the house from underneath the doors and little spaces around the windows.

Hinata flicked her head up and wiped her face clean on the long sleeve. The voice began to tear away at the cold clinging to her like a leech. Slowly, it scraped off the icy feeling of loneliness from her body and filled her with such warmth that her nearly still heart raced. She would recognize his voice anywhere.

"Sasuke . . . " she whispered without the barrier of honorific, throwing off the burden of Naruto's hurtful words from her body with stubborn haste and looked towards his shadow, which stretched long just beyond the door. Within seconds, Sasuke loomed into view—a silhouette against the bright light in the hall.

He turned his head and stepped into the room and stopped just a step short of her. "You're sitting here?" he asked, moving his head around to look at the empty room and stopping his gaze just for a moment on the small paintings spread out on the matted floor. "Naruto's sleeping at the Academy for the night. Honestly, I don't know why. But that's not why I'm here. He didn't tell you?"

Hinata kept staring at him and wrapped her arms around herself. "No," she said in a tiny voice, not averting his gaze.

"I want you to join my team. I think another Byakugan user would be a good. That would take the burden off Neji as well, and I would get a new helping hand. I don't want to press you on this, but—"

"I accept!" Hinata said loudly and jumped to her feet to look at his face clouded by mild confusion. "I accept, Sasuke!"

Sasuke tilted his head to one side, slightly taken aback by such a direct use of his name, especially from Hinata, but he did not say anything after taking a good look at her ruined face: she had been crying. "All right," he said and ran his eyes over the dry streaks of tears, "you can come tomorrow morning to my office to join. I'll personally train you to control your chakra. You told me it was your weakness."

"Yes," she said through the haze on her mind, her countenance slowly taking on the look of a paramour. She wanted Naruto to suffer, her father to pay for his coldness. It was always Hanabi, never her. Why should she anchor the name of their families alone? She defiantly threw away the leech of innocence within her. She would feel love, passion, and freedom; she would taste them like Naruto and her family.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Get some rest—you look tired," he said and turned for the door when Hinata grabbed his hand. Sasuke looked back with a start. He saw the hard resolve on her face, and then lowered his eyes to her fingers that gripped his hand. He closed his eyes and threw a bold, meaningful smile at her. "This is a mistake. I don't think this is the way to get back at Naruto."

"Stay here . . . with me," Hinata said in an even voice that surprised even her. Her bold expression remained plastered over her face. She did not waver as she kept looking into his eyes in the darkness of the room, gripped by the need for passion. He would be the new leaf in her life's empty book.

Sasuke remained silent, meeting her nearly white eyes with a subtle expression of lust. He felt as though he was being fooled. He never expected Hinata to let those words slip from her lips. Naruto really had pushed her to her limit. It was almost pitiful—it was almost too easy . . .

"I don't want you . . . to leave . . . " she said in a deep voice laced with such passion that he felt that familiar itch of arousal. She moved her hand up and touched the zip and pulled it down gently. Her timid demeanour, corrupted by lust, was quite the sight to behold that he bent his head down and took her lips, and she welcomed them without hesitation . . .

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	9. It Began with a Mistake

**Chapter Nine** : It Began with a Mistake

 **AN** : The **Hyūga Clan** (mostly) works like the family and social systems introduced in the **Edo Period**.

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Mistakes—what were they like? How many had she made to twist away from the grasp of fate? A terrible sound cut through her lust, but it was not enough to break free of it completely. She was helpless. She wanted him. She desired him. His touch made streaks of heat travel straight to her shuddering heart, and it shuddered still more . . . deliciously more.

That moist flood of craving increased between her legs as her questing tongue traced his lips, and as he parted his mouth, she tasted his; it was so warm, wet, and hot against hers that her eyes fluttered like a small butterfly caught in a sandy whirlwind. There was a fleeting taste of sake on his tongue, and she drank the breath from his body. So sweet it was. She wanted more. So much more.

That dull ache intensified to a sharper pain, and she just wanted to be filled by him so completely. Every barrier of shame was gone. Every memory was forgotten behind the rise of heat. Her body was fettered _only_ by desire. Her sluggish heart was stirred so violently to a hot fever of desire. The veins throbbed with a heavy pulse; blood pounded in her ears like loud drums. Her skin was so warm and sweaty, and when the cool draft of wind slid across it, it became another sensation that whirled her blood and mind.

Hinata was helpless. She finally realized that she was . . . helpless. With trembling hands, she had slid off his office jacket. It lay somewhere by her feet. She did not care where it was. Her unsure hands struggled again with the buttons in his shirt. She had opened just two when he pulled it over his head and threw it away. A thin film of sweat covered his white skin; she felt it tingle with arousal underneath her fingers.

It was not a slow dance she had imagined. No, Sasuke was hot and fiery, his touch demanding, forceful, and quick, his teeth grating on her lips. His breaths came fast and heavy. When they blew across her slick skin, all the unwanted wants, unfinished pleasures, and unnamed dreams mingled into a single sensation that rang through her ears like a loud shriek and shuddered through her body like a clawing fire—lust.

At that moment, nothing mattered—no one mattered. She just wanted him to complete her and shatter the deep chill in her body; break her like a toy and make her whole again with nothing but strings and threads of pleasures; stitch that doll back up again and rip its soul out with one shattering, pleasurable jab of a sharp needle that would bleed her completely.

The shuddering sensation would not ease. She wanted those lips back on her, but when they met his, she knew that hers were clumsy like her tongue. His answer was a rough, hard, feverish kiss. He was not gentle. He nipped at her lips and let out a deep, breathy sound that rushed across her skin. His hands moved down, and he hastily undid the obi tied around her waist. He yanked at her kimono and it slid down in a heap by her feet—her underwear followed.

Her hand was tight in his hair, her teeth at his earlobe as he lay upon her and wedged his hips between her legs. She arched up against him, chest heaving, eyes swirling with desire. She moved her fingers around his heaving ribs, into the dip of his sweaty spine, and the contours of his arms—and that face. He was beautiful, amazing, mesmerizing. That heated expression on his face gave him such an intense look.

Hinata did not need any words. She did not think she even had them. It was all wordless lust and wonder. Her timid gestures to draw him close matched the expressions on her face. She felt his heart through her palm; it was loud and wild and quick. The aching pain increased. It was unbearable, and she felt it clench repeatedly against nothing.

She pressed into him and smelt him and the heady musk of his body. In her confused mind, she listened to the crashing sounds of his heart as if it was made of something heavy and metallic that was repeatedly thrown against the wall—an assortment of dull sounds that rose from the depths, becoming louder and louder till they would become unendurable.

Her whole body felt as though it was violently crashing against the rocks—only without the pain, only without the unpleasant sensations. The feeling . . . it was just breaking her apart. She wanted it to begin, let it start somewhere, and consume her with violence. She was ready. She had surrendered. Her body, now, was just a hopeless meld of lust and desire.

He entered her in one ruthless shove. A cry burnt in her throat. She parted her lips to utter it, but nothing came out other than a whimpering sound. It hurt . . . a little. It was all so sudden. She felt full, almost wanton when he moved. His thrusts were quick, deep, and powerful, and then they were hard and ruthless. She went into a frenzy, undulating with the rhythm he had to offer—pleasure jolting through her body and swirling in her chest, her walls pulsing around him.

Hinata did not want him to stop. She wanted him to break her completely and burn her soul with all the violence he could manage, let nothing of her old self remain, let it rot somewhere in the deep reaches of her mind, and consume her completely—leave her helpless, breathy, and wanting. It was such a carnal thought, but she was not afraid to admit it.

She felt herself edging close to the abyss from their mating vibrations as he unkindly propelled her body forward on the bed. She tightened her walls with each stroke, and he made a pained sound—his head bent and his eyes shut as braced himself over her. His breaths frantic, hot and ragged, against her ear . . . his thrust so deep that her calm shattered. Her breath got knocked out of her. Her eyes went wide, and her lips shuddered like a thirsty traveller's looking at the brink of a well filled with such sweet water; and she erupted, tightening painfully around him. His neck strained in response, his face twisted in pleasure, and he stroked one last time and pulled out, spraying his semen over her belly.

Whatever that feeling was, it speared through her and she was spent. It was such pleasure she had never felt before. It tingled her skin and burnt her lungs with a cool fire. Every breath that filled her lungs sent a spark through her body. She wanted to feel more, more of him, more of this pleasure. Her thoughts were cut short when he pulled back. He did not look her way; he simply rolled off her, zipped himself up, and got to his feet.

Hinata watched as he bent down to pick up the jacket and shirt and left the room in silence. She sat up, confused. She heard faint scraping sounds, and suddenly, the door opened and then closed a moment later. And just like that, he was gone; she felt tears welling up, and as a single shuddering breath moved her, they burnt her cheeks. Her fingers clenched on the sheets. He was . . . so cold.

When the sadness wore off, Hinata slept peacefully. It was a strange peace. Her body was simply not used to such pleasures. When she woke up, she felt an unwanted soreness between her legs. It was expected. She sat on her bed silently, but her mind was elsewhere: misgivings and fears rolled in like cool waves, chilling her flesh and bones.

She did not know what to think. A part of her wanted pleasure and a part, felt ashamed and feared her Clan's wrath. Had she become too weak? She touched her red lips and they ached with a dull throbbing of desire. If they found out, they would banish her, disinherit her, or worse, kill her in the name of honour. There were stories in her Clan of people being killed to preserve honour in the past. She had committed a terrible mistake when she invited Sasuke to her bed. She had defiled the institution of marriage—a marriage not just between Naruto and her, but two clans. She would be accused of whoredom and there would be no absolution for her.

Not long had passed since Hinata felt pleasure, but now, she could feel the arduous challenge of overcoming the thoughts that were beginning to frighten her. It was difficult to escape this torment of hers. She looked down and noticed that his semen had dried up on her belly. It was time to clean her body of him.

She stood up and looked at her naked body and face in the mirror—a face with a confused expression stared back at her from the mirror. His cold attitude hurt her, but the mirror told no lies: she wanted this, so it was . . . all right? Then a ghostly smile crept across her tender lips. Sasuke was cold, but he had delighted her immensely. He made her happy, and even if was something fleeting and evanescent, she enjoyed the experience that gave her nothing but contentment.

She would see him again and invite him to taste the same pleasure. If Naruto could have Sakura, then why could she not have him? It was a stubborn thought, but she believed it to be right and just. He did not refuse her—he was a man, after all. She looked away, embarrassed by her reflection smiling girlishly back at her without any guilt. And then, like a child, she lifted her eyes slightly to gaze at the woman grinning like a small girl who had received her first awkward kiss on the mouth.

Hinata moved her hand up to touch her lips; Sasuke had kissed them and they were still red and swollen despite the night that had sated her passions. She stood straight, passion flickering across her pasty face, her cheeks bright red. Boldly, as if to feel herself to be real, she covered her breasts with her own hands. She squeezed them slightly, closing her eyes, and tilting her head back to let out an impassioned sigh . . . remembering the night as though she had taken a sip of such an intoxicating and redolent sake.

Naruto had never pleasured her this way. She repulsed him. Every inch of her was a blight of a disease-filled reminder that he loved another. She was a scar, a terrible wound on his life that reeked of duty and loveless marriage. How she hated this marriage now, his betrayal, when only a few years back he could abate the mounting sadness within her with just a warm smile!

Hinata opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling fan and a single tear traced an irregular path down her cheek. She felt nothing for him now and it made her happy. She moved her hand down, brushing it on her nipples before tracing the round curve of her supple breasts, retracing the paths Sasuke had touched with his hands. Her lashes trembled—wounded wings of a butterfly that experienced the bouts of death: it was an enormous feeling of lust that came over her.

She desired him so much that, every time her hand moved a little lower, her tiny, muted sobs shook her like a babe being denied its repose. Finally, she touched her genitals, and her clumsy fingers tangled in the rough hair. It was beginning to ache again, and she felt empty. She moved her finger across her lips and collected slippery mucus from between the folds on her forefinger. She bit down on the lower lip, swaying like a somnambulist standing alone in a room, surrounded by the fumes of a self-created passion.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her warm finger against her genitals. But it was not enough . . . Hinata let out a loud sigh and unburdened herself of the onus of her clan, her husband, and faithfulness. She withdrew her fingers and stared at herself and tucked a few strands of hair behind the ear. She just did not care for them anymore. She would find a way to break free; she would let them conquer her no longer!

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Sasuke had left a hasty note on the rack. It instructed her to be on the training grounds before the sun came up. She obliged, even if she was angry with him.

She stood under the clear sky on the training grounds, wearing that old Genin outfit she had tucked away in one of the trunks she brought with herself from home. She never expected to use it again, but fates were smiling on her today. Everyone was here, even Naruto, standing with their heads bowed. Naruto looked tired and weary, his eyes surrounded by dark circles. To his right was Sakura. She was patting his back; an expression of sympathy remained pasted on her face.

Neji stood opposite her, his eyes white. He was a loving man: the only man from her clan who opposed her marriage. He visited her home once a week, but due to the recent burden of missions, she had not seen him for two months. He had apologized to her profusely at the Hidden Mist Village that he would find more time for her. She loved him for his honesty and his perseverance to hold his own on Sasuke's team. He smiled when she looked to him. They stood at a little distance from the rest of the team; Neji was the assistant Jōnin, after all.

She moved her head a little to look at the two lines of twenty Chūnins that stood in an orderly manner (a few feet away from each other). She was curious to see who else was on the team, but she recognized no one. Other than Sasuke and Neji, all of them were Chūnins. Naruto and Sakura were contenders for the third and fourth Jōnins on the team, but Sasuke had not offered a letter of recommendation to the Anbu-Division Head, so they remained at the same posts.

Presently, Sasuke was pacing in between the two rows, lecturing on the merits of being on top of the Jōnin Teams in Konoha and how it would shame him if they slumped down to the second spot. Hinata stood erect when she heard him scream at a man she did not recognize.

"Do I look like a fool to you?" Sasuke asked and pointed his hand at himself. The man in front was sweating by the buckets.

"S-Sasuke-Sama—I-I mean, no, Sasuke-Sama," he sputtered out in a loud voice, puffing out his chest; he looked constipated as if he was about to lay a very large egg.

"Shut up, you fool!" Sasuke spat in his face and took one step back. "Pay attention when I'm talking to you, you hear me?" Sasuke stretched his hand and poked at his temple with his fingers and pushed him back.

The man staggered back, still nodding as if his head was a part of an automatic mechanism. He stepped forward with lightning speed, took the exact same spot, and stood still with his eyes bulging out. Sasuke cast once last hateful glance his way and resumed his back and forth march.

"Exams are approaching, and if anyone of you fails," he paused and held up a single finger, and his face contorted in anger, "I'll destroy your lives. Understand, you miserable pile of old rocks?" Loud ' _yes, Sasuke-Sama_ ' sounds rose up from all the Chūnins. Even Hinata muttered a squeaky ' _yes_ ' and dropped her gaze when she saw Sasuke flick her an expressionless glance.

When no one said anything more, Sasuke created a surprised look on his face and said, "what the fuck are you people looking at me for? Get lost and carry out the team exercise we discussed yesterday." They all scrambled at his command, even Hinata began with a start, not sure what she was supposed to do. "Not you, Hinata. You're coming with me," Sasuke said and stopped her in her tracks. "Neji, oversee the practice, and if someone doesn't perform well, send him home. This isn't a support team for freeloaders."

Neji nodded and marched off in the team's direction. Hinata's eyes kept following him, and then she tore her gaze away and brought it on Sasuke. He leant against the tree a few feet away and looked at her. His eyes and face were without heat and passion. His aloofness surprised her. "Focus your chakra in your hands and create a small, sharp spear," he commanded and folded his arms.

Hinata gulped and felt the burden of his eyes on her. He was so cold. It was strange that they were so intimate with each other not that long ago. She clenched her fingers and cracked her knuckles a few times before she held out her palms and focused chakra into them. It looked nothing like a spear but more along the lines of an irregular jagged pattern. It was . . . very embarrassing.

When she stopped the flow and lowered her eyes again, Sasuke made a small ' _hmm'_ sound. He did not seem impressed. "You've been out of practice for five years. I didn't expect you to accomplish anything," he said and looked up at the birds sitting in a big tree opposite. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't work hard to improve it. There are a few simple ways to improve Chakra control." He pushed himself off the tree's rough bark and walked to her.

Hinata stepped back a little and felt her face get warm again when Sasuke stopped only a few inches from her. "There is the long and hard way, and then there is a short-cut. If I chose the hard way, you'll be stuck in the Genin rut for Sage knows how long. I doubt even you want that. So I'll teach it to you through a different method. Hold out your hand," he said and held out his.

Hinata looked at him and slowly moved her hand. He took it in his grasp and ran a bit of his chakra through it. His chakra was extremely powerful, and it made her heady. "This is a very small amount of my Chakra. You won't be able to handle anything more from an Uchiha," he said, holding her hand tightly. "My chakra has a certain pattern, but it's tamed and regular. It won't be able to perfectly regulate yours, but it would give it a slight push to regulate itself. I used this method to teach Yuu how to perfect it for his Medical Jutsus."

"How w-will I . . . ?" Hinata asked and looked at his red eyes.

"You'll keep trying to form a perfect spear." He loosened his grip. "And—" he broke off when he saw how quickly she pulled her hand back and gazed around to make sure no one was looking at them. There was urgency in her actions, and he did not like it. He frowned. "What are you doing?"

Hinata jerked her head up and put her hand to her breast. Her face looked hot and confused. She still had to detach herself from that experience, and this small distance between them was making her feel awkward and embarrassed. "N-Nothing," she muttered and held her left hand tightly in the other.

"Listen," he said and inched a little closer and leant down his head to meet her eyes, "whatever happened between us doesn't make it outside the confines of your bedroom. Do you understand me? Grow up. Unless you want to remain locked up in your house forever, I suggest you stop this and toughen up. Otherwise, you're just another meal for Namikaze." Hinata moved her head a little and gazed up at his stern face and that cold expression.

Sasuke backed away and wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve; it was getting warm. "Go over to Yuu and cut through twenty Chakra stakes in an hour, and then come back to me again. Don't just try and cut through them—turn off your chakra every time and try to meld it with mine to smooth it out. Go," he ordered in a flat tone and shoved his right hand into his pant's pocket.

Hinata turned around and jogged off in Yuu's direction—he stood with Sakura and two other medics. As she walked past Sakura, she met her green eyes for a fleeting moment. She saw a strange look in them that she could not quite understand. She stood at the far end with Yuu and closed her eyes to mix Sasuke's chakra with hers. It jolted through her like a spark, delighting her senses.

Hinata opened her eyes and gathered chakra into her hands again, and when it materialized, it was a little less irregular. She thrust it forward when Yuu created a thick chakra block. It did not even dent it. She cut off the supply and tried again. This time, a small nick in the block made her feel happy. She looked over her shoulder and saw Naruto create a large spinning Rasengan and add Futon to it. He threw it forward, cutting all three large stones in front. A ninja who stood with him slapped his hands onto the ground and three thick stones jutted out again.

She looked ahead, and even if a small part of her felt remorse, it was too little, too late. She stopped the chakra flow and gathered it again when Sakura interrupted her: "when did you decide to join the team, Hinata?"

Hinata turned around, and her focused chakra disappeared in wisps on her hands. "Yesterday," she said in a low voice, smouldering the flames of her distaste for this woman—a woman who had aided Naruto in making her life miserable.

"Ah, I see," she spoke in an artificial and unconvincing voice as though she was forcing herself to speak and wheeled around to fully face her. "I heard Sasuke personally invited you to join the team. Is that right? He never extended us this courtesy. Isn't he whimsical?"

"Sakura, Sasuke-Sama will get angry again. Complete your work and let her practice. She has a lot to do before she reports back to him," Yuu said in a firm voice, created another block, and urged Hinata to resume her training.

"I know, you don't have to remind me," Sakura returned with a calm smile and went back to the other two medics. An odd expression was hovering over her features like a phantom. She kept moving her eyes back and forth between the Medic in front of her and Sasuke.

Hinata felt the first tremors of fear. This woman was strange. Hinata started gathering chakra into her hands and kept looking out of the corner of her eyes at that fair face warping and contorting under the weight of an intense feeling. Something about her made her spine tingle with nothing but fear. There was just something about her, and Hinata could not quite understand what . . .

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	10. Looming Trouble

**Chapter Ten** : Looming Trouble

 **AN** : There is a complex story behind a " **certain character's** " failures revealed in this chapter. You will learn more about them as the story progresses.

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A whole day had passed by in training. Hinata thought it would be easy but it was not. She remembered when she and Miyuki first cut a swathe along the small pathway that led to her new home. Her fingers had hurt, and the bones felt brittle beneath the skin. A deep ache had set in. But this was . . . much more difficult!

She sat in a large wooden chair in Sasuke's office and looked down to her deeply bruised palms. They were green with swollen veins popping out of the soft skin. When she tried to curl her fingers, a sharp pain ran through her whole arm. Sasuke had given her a very hard time. She did not understand him at all. It was as if he had a different face for everything—a new façade for all occasions, and she could only hope to peel it away completely before a new one resurfaced in its place.

Hinata sighed and slumped over the table, gazing down at her dirty nails now. Her white eyes wandered off left and right and outside the window, which was left slightly open across from the large table. A cool and gentle breeze lightly touched her face and moved the yellow leaves outside. Sun had dipped below the horizon, and a red hue was beginning to spread across the sky.

Sasuke had told her to wait in the office, and she had been sitting here obediently for the past fifteen minutes. The rest of the team completed tough exercises one after another; she was glad this was her first day. Today, she felt a pang of guilt for Naruto's daily routine. Sasuke had denied him his Jōnin position because he was falling behind; his family had forced her upon him, and Sakura probably added to his worries.

Hinata did not know what to feel for him. Maybe these thoughts were the last dregs of her love for him that made her feel unwanted remorse. She was slowly letting go of it, steeling herself for what was to come. The quietness of her thoughts was constantly disturbed by the noises outside, but there would always be the comfort and loneliness of her home—it was her sanctuary and her prison.

She sat up straight when she heard the soft sounds of steps on the wooden floor outside, and within seconds, Sasuke entered the room, leaving the same vague smell of something fragrant and musky in his wake. It lingered there, persistent, not ready to leave despite the steady draft pouring into the warm room.

He put the scroll on the table and pulled down the zip on his jacket, taking it off and throwing it on the back of his chair. His shirt was unbuttoned at his throat. It was glistening and sweaty, drying in the warmth the fireplace exuded. He pulled the heavy chair back and sat down. Not a second passed when he raised his hand and took off his headband and threw it onto the table. It clanked on the hard veneer there. After that quick ritual, he leant back into his chair and closed his eyes as he took in a long intake of breath. He looked tired.

Hinata kept looking at Sasuke's calm face covered with a thin film of sweat. The dark hair around his face clung to the skin. He just sat there, eyes closed, arms resting on the armrests, not looking at her or anything—he was just quiet as if sleeping in the big chair. Moments passed and he finally opened his eyes, bringing his gaze upon her curious face. There was a sweet bloom in her cheeks. He held his gaze for a moment and watched as her cheeks began to redden.

"How was your first day?" he asked and leant his head back to look up at a few cobwebs hanging from the side of the still ceiling fan. A look of displeasure flickered across his face, but he quickly schooled his features.

"I-It was good," she said in a very small voice and fiddled with the button on her jacket in nervousness.

Sasuke let out a soft laugh and sat up straight. "You don't have to lie. There isn't a single shinobi on my team whose first day was ever good with me," he said with a playful expression on his face and grabbed the scroll from the table. "So how was it?"

"I . . . " she paused and mustered up a bit of courage to speak again, "it was a very d-difficult day. My hands are bruised and I can't feel my fingers." She quickly looked away when she saw Sasuke smiling at her confession with his eyes on the scroll.

"Get used to it. You've been out of practice for so long. This was bound to happen." He looked up for a fleeting moment and then dropped his eyes to the scroll again. "I'll tell Yuu to heal you before you leave. Your performance was barely adequate for a newcomer. You need to step up your game if you want to stay in the team. Right now, you're just in the trial slot."

"Trial slot?" Hinata asked and quickly wiped her sweaty hands on her pants.

"Yes, a trial slot," Sasuke replied and rolled up the scroll and met her eyes. "I plan on throwing one free-loader off the team. He's been getting on my nerves for quite a while. The bastard didn't even perform well today. So better you, a new chick I can guide than an old cock that has outgrown its warranty."

Hinata did not say anything and bent her head to look at her hands again.

Sasuke tapped the table a few times with his knuckle. "Pay attention, Hinata. You'll keep on repeating the same exercise every day until you learn something. Clear?" he asked and slapped on the table lightly.

Hinata nodded and rubbed her palms on her dirty pants again. They were starting to itch now. "I will have to come d-daily?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

Sasuke looked at her with an incredulous expression as if that was not obvious enough. "Of course," he paused, stood up, and made his way around the table towards her chair, "you won't get any special treatment . . . just because of the _nice_ time we had together." He looked down at her, wearing a wisp of a smile on his handsome face.

Hinata averted his heavy gaze upon her and looked outside the window again. There, on a supple tree branch, sat that tiny hawk Sasuke called Kirin. It was sitting there obediently, cocking its head and craning its neck to look left and right as Sasuke walked around in the office to get another scroll. Hinata thought it looked lovable! She had this urge to grab it in her fist and stroke its flecked feathers.

"Your bird," she said and pointed at the window.

Sasuke walked to the window and looked outside. It let out a melodious sound and flew to him when he made a small hand gesture. It landed on his shoulder and bounced excitedly as he reached into his pocket and fed him.

"I told Nii-Sama not to send you here so early," he said in a gentle voice and stroked his feathers lightly. "But I guess he knows that I get so lonely without you." He let out a little laugh and leant against the table.

Hinata smiled, admiring the softness of Sasuke's features. He looked happy today—his countenance serene, undisturbed by any burden. A small part of her envied him so. He did not know remorse the way she did . . . tasting it every day like a poison that ate her insides and made her façade crumble to reveal a telling, wistful smile that hid nothing.

But Sasuke always knew how to hide his heart. Perhaps, staying close to him, she would end up learning the art of secrecy—something she could never learn in her home. Her eyes were still transfixed on his face that she did not realize when he had started looking back at her. "Something wrong?" he asked, breaking her out of her quiet thoughts.

"N-No," she said quickly and turned her gaze slightly to look to the hawk again that had hidden well behind Sasuke's jaw-length hair. "I—what are my chances to clear the trial period?"

"That's up to you. If you work hard, nothing is impossible. I can ask Neji to help you out because I'll have my hands full with a few missions for a week. I won't be around anyway," he explained.

Hinata's heart began to beat with longing, and her untrained, honest lips moved before she could stop them, and she whispered, "when will . . . I-I see you again?"

A subtle, playful expression scurried across his face before it disappeared behind his well-guarded countenance. "If you want, I can come see you tonight," he said in a deep, husky voice and leant down to meet her passion-filled eyes. "Naruto will stay at the academy again. Aren't you naughty, Hinata?" He backed away and left behind that same lingering scent in the air.

Hinata bent her head down and peered through the curtain of hair over her eyes at her shivering hands again. What was she doing? This was not right. Out of the corner of her shy eyes, she gazed at his face again. The allure in his eyes was gone, vanished behind the same mask he always wore. His eyes took on that ferocious red colour and turned to look at the door. Three perfect Tomoes moved in a circle before coming to a halt. "Go home," he said in a low voice, and his eyes locked on the door. "I'll come by after I'm done here."

"Yes," Hinata said and stood up, moving her aching fingers a bit. They still hurt, but, at least, the itchiness was gone.

"Yuu should be done with his work by now. Ask him to heal you," he said and folded his arms across his breast when he heard the knock on the door. "Come in, Sakura."

The door opened and revealed the pink-haired woman who wore that same odd expression on her sweaty red face. It lost its intensity almost suddenly as her green eyes turned to Sasuke; her tight expression softened and eased. Hinata did not understand her. She made her way quietly out of the office and closed the door behind her.

"Office hours are over," Sasuke said and watched her as she made her way around the table and stopped close to him—too close. "Leave, unless you have something important to tell me."

"I came to give you this," Sakura said and produced a scroll out of her jacket's pocket. She was smiling heartily.

Sasuke took the scroll from her hand and unrolled it. A subtle ' _hmm_ ' sound escaped his lips before he rolled it up again and threw it onto the table. "I don't approve of these results," he said, and his features hardened into a look of irritation.

"What are you saying? Hokage-Sama took the test. You _have_ to accept these," she protested, looking helpless.

"No, I don't," Sasuke replied with a hard look plastered on his face. "I'm the team's Head Jōnin, and it's up to me to accept your results or reject them. That's what the rules say anyway. And guess what? I don't trust your mentor."

Sakura backed away a little, impatient. "What do you mean?" she asked and bit her lower lip in anxiety.

"I don't know, maybe, because you're her student that she feels the need to throw you in the best team in Konoha? You know, to exalt her own reputation and that of your clan's, as well. After all, Haruno Clan is unheard of," he said, his voice full of reproach.

"That's not true!" Sakura denied, raising her voice.

"Lower your voice—this is my office," Sasuke said with a heavy accent and clenched his teeth in a way as though he wanted to say more.

"I've worked hard to get here and stay on this team. You know how good my chakra control is. It's the same as Yuu's. I have good Taijutsu and tailing skills. You just—don't see it," Sakura accused, her voice shaking with emotion now.

"You take me for a fool?" he asked and pushed himself off the table to tower over her, his expression contorting with a large flare of anger. "You know damn well how you got here. Your parents pleaded before the Hokage, and she practically told you the Jōnin Team test—you sly little cheater. I had to give you countless extensions, work around the test timings, group you up with Yuu, and send you off to that damned woman's office almost daily so that you could make up for your training. Don't you _dare_ mock my intelligence." He breathed heavily, seething with rage.

Sakura fell silent. She knew he would never fall for her denials. It was no use, and she could not tell him the truth. It was better to lie for now. "It's true," she began another lie and looked down to her feet, "I didn't come here on hard-work alone. It was Hokage-Sama's love for me and my parents' prayers that I am where I am today. But that's also true that I've worked hard since then. I've done everything you have ever asked of me. I passed all the exams! Sasuke, I have done whatever you asked. Don't be so cold-hearted." Her breath caught in her throat came out as a few sobs. She moved her hand up and wiped her tear-filled eyes vehemently as if to push her burdens down.

Sasuke's expressions softened just a bit. "What do you want? I'm tired of coddling you," he said and kneaded his brow. "I don't care what your reasons are to stay here. I won't accept your test results. The Team Exams will take place a week from now, and Yuu will oversee the Medical Divisions' Tests with a few other Ninjas from my Clan. If you fail those, then I don't care what you do, I'll throw you out faster than you can grovel before your persuasive mentor. That's my final word."

"I will have to give the tests _again_? And Yuu is a Chūnin—he can't oversee anything!" she said with an accusatory expression.

"You damn well will if you want to stay on the team. And Yuu gave Jōnin Exams two weeks ago. I sent his letter of recommendation to the Anbu Division. The approval letter just came in today," Sasuke said and there was a clear note of triumph in his sly voice. "Is that all? If it is, then you can leave. I have work to do."

Sakura inched closer and leant up to press her cold cheek against his jaw. "You know—you know I didn't just stay to preserve my Clan's honour. I stayed here for you, too," she whispered in his ear and then left the office in silence . . .

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Hinata sat in the shadows of the room. A lone candle sat on the table; its flame danced on the wick, threatening to go out any second as the wind outside picked up pace. She had just made it home when Miyuki gave her the message from Minato. She did not even have time to rest. Next to her sat her husband—his head bowed and his face tense. He was silent, unable to answer his father's questions.

"Naruto, your father has asked you something," Kushina said and adjusted the shawl draped around her small shoulders with delicate hands. Her long red hair hung down her back like a smooth curtain. They were spread on the floor behind her, wispy and numerous on the shiny wooden floor. She was an uncannily young looking woman—pretty with a sprite-like appearance.

Naruto raised his head up sluggishly, his eyes tired and weary. He looked very ill. "I . . . I don't have anything else to say. I already told you, it's—it's just not working," he said in a weary voice and raised his hand to palm his face.

"Perhaps you are not trying hard enough," Minato said heavily and turned his blue eyes just a little bit to look at Hinata. He was still very youthful and handsome for someone just a few years shy of fifty like his wife. "You will turn twenty-five soon. I married you off five years ago in hopes of preserving our Clan through you. The Hyūga Clan wanted the same, and yet, here you are, sitting before me with nothing but excuses."

"Father, I—" Naruto protested but clamped his lips tightly together when Minato raised his hand.

"I do not want to hear anything more. How hard is it to impregnate a healthy woman," Minato said, his voice heavier than before, laced with authority despite what had become of his Clan, but his wife was enough to anchor his name. She was an Uzumaki, and despite the mass-slaughter of her clan a few decades ago, they were still many in number, living in Eddy Village under the protection of Konoha. They were famous for their sealing techniques and medicinal herbs—an asset for Konoha's growing military might.

"Did you go to Shizune, Hinata?" Kushina asked, clearing her throat. "I made an appointment for you yesterday, but she told me you never came. Why?" Her greenish eyes were dark and inquisitive in the shadows.

Hinata looked up at her and avoided Minato's crystal blue eyes. She could see a bit of Naruto in him. "I-I joined Sasuke-Sama's team. I just forgot. It's not like I haven't gone there before m-many times. She doesn't have anything new to say to me anyway," Hinata said and drew in a deep sigh.

"You joined that Uchiha's team? Why?" Minato asked, looking stern now.

But before Hinata could say something in her defence, Naruto forestalled her loudly, "and what's wrong with that? It's not like Sasuke would ruin her family's name or anything. He just wanted a new hand for his team with Neji. It would benefit Hyūga Clan to be under the Uchiha anyway." He looked away, huffing.

"I know Sasuke means a lot to you, Naruto. But your wife needs to be home if she is to raise a child," Kushina reasoned and looked calmly from Naruto to the quiet Hinata.

"Not to mention that daemon incident. Sage knows what these Uchihas are planning," Minato accused with a slow shake of his head.

"Have you invited me here to accuse and insult Sasuke?" Naruto asked, his temper flaring. "If it wasn't for Sasuke, I was done for. No one would take me into their teams. It was Sasuke who looked out for me. No thanks to you, father."

"Naruto, behave yourself. You are talking to your father. Apologise, now!" Kushina said in a disapproving voice and placed her hand tenderly on Minato's shoulder.

"And you, mother? You didn't stop being a ninja when you married father, and even after you had me. Are all your rules for me—to make my life even more miserable?" Naruto said in a loud voice, not backing down.

"No one is making your life miserable, Naruto," Minato said in a calm voice and closed his eyes, his countenance weary. He looked hurt by his son's honesty. "But you know how the Uchihas are and how Hinata would suffer if she failed to bear us and her own family an heir. Neji would have been an apt match, but he is from the Branch family. You know how it is. The Head family's few sons are already betrothed or wedded off within the Head family. Hiashi had little choice in the matter. His own family line was dying. Try to understand things. You are not a child."

The thought of Neji came suddenly to Hinata's mind. That was true—she desired Neji so long ago. It was just a girlish desire. He was a kind and handsome man—sober, loving. If her father had wedded her off to him, she would not have been plagued by such a lonely and shameful life. Just today, when she saw him looking at her again, she felt a sudden jolt of that old longing rise within her with such vehemence that only the thought of Sasuke quelled it.

"There you go again. You just can't stop accusing the one person I care about the most, don't you?" Naruto said and leant forward, the whiskers on his face standing on ends. He looked livid. "Your accusation got half of his clan killed. Don't deny it. As for an heir, then you'll get it when I _feel_ like going near her!" He hastily got to his feet and glanced down at Hinata for a fleeting moment.

"Naruto, do not shy away from your responsibilities and do not forget the hardships faced by your parents. Do not be . . . selfish. This is not _just_ about you—it is about us as well. Think about it," Minato said in a heavy voice, holding Kushina's hand in his.

"I'm going over to the academy. I've got to prepare for the Jōnin and Team Tests in the coming weeks. I really don't have time for this," he said without turning around and left all of them silent in the living room.

"He has grown into such a spiteful child," Minato said aloud and heaved a painfully long sigh. Then he raised his eyes to look at Hinata still staring down at her healed-hands. "If he does not come near you, then you as a wife can do so. You are a woman and the daughter of a respectable Clan. It is not just Naruto's responsibility to shoulder his own Clan's honour. It is yours as well."

"Minato is right. Think about your Clan and the shame your father will face if people find out that Naruto does not care for you. Or Sage forbid, they start thinking that you are a barren woman. You have no idea what that would do to your father," Kushina said with an air of her Clan's superiority over hers. Hinata did not like her tone, but she stayed quiet.

"I will ask a servant to escort you back to your home," Minato said and rose to his feet. In the light, Hinata's eyes fell upon his Hakama that still bore the red patterns of his Clan since his Hokage days.

"It's all right—I-I'll manage," Hinata replied and stood up, too. "Thank you for the dinner." She bowed down and turned around to leave the mansion.

It took her a good thirty minutes to make it back to the familiar verges of the forest that marked the start of the moors. The night was quiet today, broken just a little by the wind. Somewhere an owl hooted, and a few crickets made a little noise, but because of the light rains, the forest fell asleep so soon before the moon even had a chance to shine down upon it properly.

Minato's and Kushina's words hurt her deeply. Naruto did not want her, even they could see that much. How could she ever pursue him to bed her? He never made love to her. It was always a responsibility, a ritual for him, which he tried to complete without leaving his seed inside of her. He wanted his parents to break off this marriage. This was not the first time they were called before them. They were always the same questions and the same answers that _always_ left her humiliated.

Hinata walked slowly along the snaking brook that led to her house. Her eyes were downcast, looking to the vegetables poking out of the scraped soil. She had planted new seeds a few weeks ago and small buds were reaching out above the ground now. The recent rains had been beneficial. It would just be Miyuki now as she would be working hard to gain that spot on the team. When she would get it, she would try and break free. She just needed that little reassurance.

With that thought, she raised her eyes to look to the door. She stopped in her tracks, and her cheeks flushed: Sasuke was standing on her doorstep, gazing at her with a soft smile on his face. He had not forgotten that she had invited him to her place. After that gruelling humiliation at Minato's home, the thought of making love to him filled her with such profound happiness!

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	11. A Mysterious Death

**Chapter Eleven:** A Mysterious Death

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Summer was gone and rains came cold and hard. A gentle downpour chilled the air, and a light pattering sound filled the space around them. A dull noise of wind seeped from between the dense foliage, and they rustled madly as it rushed past them. A deathly cold heralded the coming of autumn. It would not be long before these frail leaves, desperately clinging onto the trees' weak branches, died and withered away.

A trail made by the dexterous ninjas from Konoha had worn away and lay forgotten under the assaults of recent storms. It was covered thickly with grime and moss, indistinguishable from the green and muddy ground.

Only a week had passed and the path marking the outskirts of the village was covered in rotten green and yellow leaves. Hinata looked to the north. Low storm clouds draped the village sky in grey. A blue flash danced amidst that darkening storm, and seconds later, the whole place rumbled.

Hinata's hand started for her feet to wipe away the dirt covering her toenails—she stopped. Then she slumped back against the bark of the tree. Ten hours had gone by without sleep and nothing but a hopeless search. She did not understand why Sasuke had dragged her out here: she was still in training. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked from between the wet hair flopping over her eyes.

Sasuke stood in his Jōnin clothes a good twenty feet away from her. For some reason, he did not look happy. He had been irritable all day. Presently, he stood over a few tree roots, with one foot resting on the thickest one poking out of the soggy ground like a ghastly hand.

He had a kunai in his grasp with a silver string tied to its smooth handle. He had the fine string wrapped around his finger. Throwing the kunai straight down at a sharp angle, he created a deep and clean cut in the root. Then he pulled it back and grabbed it as it flew up into the air and repeated the same process all over again. He had been engaged in this quite pointlessly for the last ten minutes that now the root was about to be cut in half.

Hinata's lips trembled, and her deeply flushed cheeks were just like fresh tomatoes. She could not form words the way she wanted; she felt that she had lost her voice again. She was thirsty. Despite the cold biting at her cheeks, her tongue was dry. She had not tasted water for quite some time. Looking around, she made a scoop of her hands and collected cool drops of rainwater. They tingled on her skin.

She raised her hands and drank it at a draught. She had put a small pitcher by her side on the ground. A musical and metallic sound rose into the air as rain droplets collided with its surface. It was half-full. Thankfully, Sasuke had not said anything about the dull noises, which broke the gentle rhythm of the falling rain.

Sasuke looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes haughty—the character of his features slightly marred by irritation. She knew what she had to do! She raised her hands and pointed two fingers upwards, curling the rest of her fingers into firm fists. Then she pressed her knuckles together before her face and turned on her Byakugan.

Hinata felt her chakra reaching its limit. She looked around . . . and, for a few kilometres, as far as her eyes could see, she did not find anyone. She turned off her Byakugan, breathing heavily, her eyes downcast as she slumped over her knees. She would not be able to use Byakugan for quite some time without messing with her sight.

She raised her head a little to catch a glimpse of his face. His face was slightly turned, and he was looking out into the distance with cold red eyes. Rain droplets stood on his cheeks and neck, glistening under the weak sun. His lips were red from cold, and his tar-black hair clung to the side of his face, wet with rain.

Sasuke was cold . . . again. His moods changed almost erratically. Sometimes, she felt that he was, perhaps, an aberration of her mind. Only a few nights ago, he had made love to her. She remembered it almost vividly—a phantasmagoria of her dull dreams during such monotonous days.

Hinata remembered intense desire when he stood over her, his eyes catching sight of something beyond the window. She had turned her head then and looked to the blackness of the night and a faint outline of the trees; their branches shook in the gentle drafts of wind. The Sharingan in his right eye turned on automatically . . . in rhythm with the intense impulses from something. He kept looking outside and listened to the flaps of a lone black bird as its wings beat the air ferociously; and then it was gone!

It flew far away, beyond the distance his eyes could measure, and suddenly, his right eye lost that intensity. Sweat oozed out of the pores in his forehead, but his face did not betray him—completely. He quickly masked that mild anxiety with passion and took off his jacket, looking down at her with nothing but lust hovering in and out of his eyes.

Her eyes traced a familiar path across his white skin and the wonderful contours of his lean body. Blood rushed in torrents upon her heart and it raced in her. Her heart skipped beats as he kissed her and skimmed his fingers over her breasts and moved his hands down her sides to grip her hips.

He took her roughly again, his thrusts hard and quick; it did not seem as if he knew how to be gentle, but she always felt ready for him: how he completed her, and how she wanted to meet an end in the light of his sinister eyes, as he stared down at her and met the helpless gaze of a betrayer with a ferocious, keen will to bend and break and dominate her.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined to throw away her honour and lie beneath a man she was not wedded to, but there was such passion, such thrill in this betrayal. She had discarded everything she was taught. But she loved it—loved it as he breathed heavily against her ear, shuddered in every limb as he touched her in ways foreign to her skin, and felt nothing but such deep pleasure as he plunged into her repeatedly. Within him, she had found this solace she did not think was even possible, and she was not ready to give it up just yet.

Raindrops fell on her lashes and blurred her vision. She wiped her eyes with her fingers and looked ahead. Sasuke was still diligently trying to cut that root. He did not want to bring her along, but one of the elite Root members had gone missing two days ago, and a large search party was organized to scour the outskirts of Konoha where he was thought to have disappeared.

Sasuke was called back from his mission and instructed by Itachi to search an area of about fifty miles within a day. He divided the party into two teams: Neji led Naruto and Sakura and five other Chūnins. Since he was blessed with a Sharingan, he did not mind taking the less privileged _Dōjutsu_ user, Hinata, whose eyes could use a lot of work to even touch the verges of Neji's skill!

Hinata breathed a sigh of relief when Sasuke turned towards her with his Sharingan on but looked away with irritation on his face a second later—his Sharingan could tell that she did not have much in her now. Two ninjas were digging a large square-shaped hole in the ground to set-up traps. They stood knee-deep in the hole, their uniforms muddy. They needed to set up camp to rest for a few hours.

"Is this enough, S-Sasuke-Sama?" one of the men sputtered with an awkward grin on his face. He drove the spade's tip into the ground and leant on it. He was exhausted.

Sasuke looked down into the hole and then brought his hard eyes back to him. "That's barely touching five feet," he said and grabbed that accursed kunai again before throwing it down at the exact same spot. "Dig deeper, make it ten feet, and then set traps. Get to work."

"But—isn't this enough?" he protested and looked to the other man for support, who did not respond back and continued digging.

"Start digging or I'll smash open your skull with that spade," Sasuke rasped, watching as he quickly pulled out the spade and started digging with immense speed.

Hinata looked at the pitcher. Rain had mellowed quite a bit, and cold began to fade away. Only a few drops fell down from the trees now—the strength of rain was not enough to make it past the leaves overhead. She grabbed the pitcher and tipped it. When the last drop went down her throat, she looked guiltily at Sasuke . . . he had not taken a drop of water since they left camp.

She put it down and hoped that the rain would pour down again. Her thoughts were suddenly broken into when Yuu jumped down from the trees with two other ninjas. He had a few supplies with him. He handed a water bottle over to Sasuke and began, "Sasuke-Sama, I've checked the area up south, but I didn't find anything. Perhaps we should wait for Neji."

Sasuke cast an annoyed glance his way and leant against the tree, taking a few sips of water. "Give her a few soldier pills. I need her eyes, but she's almost out of chakra—after only six Byakugan uses. She needs more training," he said with an air of annoyance and handed the bottle over to Yuu.

His words bore through her and hurt her pride. She dropped her eyes down to her sandals and the mushrooms dotting the tree's foot round her. Raindrops clung to their tops like pearly dews. Sasuke was only passionate in bed: his tongue was sharp, and he knew how to push everyone's buttons and wound their emotions. Today, he angered her!

She looked up and took a sickly, blue pill (which was quite big, too!) from Yuu's hand. His face was soft and kind. He gave her a small loaf of dry bread and a water bottle. "You should ask for supplies next time," he said and sat down beside her; he touched her wrists and ankles to check her chakra points. "Sasuke-Sama doesn't indulge anyone, and it's your own responsibility to take the necessary supplies with you or ask me for them."

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know," she said in a small voice and took a small bite out of the milky bread. She was so hungry and thirsty. How could she have not known about something so important? She felt a bit ashamed . . . and even angry at Sasuke's typical annoyed indifference.

"It's all right. We all make mistakes. Besides, Sasuke-Sama is quite strict. It's no surprise he didn't tell you," Yuu said in a kind voice, touching her wrists and ankles again to calm her tense muscles. "Your stomach is not empty now. Take the pill and tell me if chakra flows smoothly through these points."

Hinata swallowed the pill and gulped down the water. The pill was tasteless. She closed her eyes and felt it give her energy almost instantly and sensed her chakra flow smoothly through her key-points. Yuu was a good medic. "Thank you, I feel better now," she said and got to her feet.

Yuu smiled in response and raised himself up to his feet, too. He turned around sharply when Sasuke spoke before Neji jumped down. "Well?" he asked and knitted his brow, "I hope you found something important on this fool's errand."

Neji jumped down, followed by Naruto and then Sakura. His sandals squelched on the muddy ground. Hinata averted Naruto's deep blue eyes guiltily. His sun-darkened skin was covered with a thin film of sweat. But Hinata looked away, not meeting his eyes that were still looking her way, though she did not understand why.

"I've found some bodies. They could be theirs," Neji said and turned off his Byakugan to save some chakra. His lips were parched and he looked tired. "I left two Naruto clones with the other ninjas, but . . . "

"Let's go," Sasuke said and turned his head to Hinata. "You, come with me and don't turn off your Byakugan even for a second. The other two are waiting at a safe distance?"

Hinata took quick but timid strides and stopped next to Sasuke.

"Yes—but, Sasuke-Sama, it might be a trap," Neji protested and stood before Sasuke to block his path.

"So?" Sasuke asked him, feigning ignorance, "let's just kill the spies and be on our merry way. Do I make myself clear?"

Neji bowed down his head, looking defeated. Hinata did not like Sasuke's tone. She loved Neji and seeing his hurt countenance wrenched at her heart. "You two, stay here with Yuu," Sasuke said to Naruto and Sakura; Sakura nodded in reply.

"But I can help with Bunshins," Naruto said and grabbed hold of Sasuke's arm. "You don't have to go alone, you know. You could get hurt. Hinata won't be of much use. She's still in training."

"That's why I am asking you to stay behind. If things get hairy, I'll inform your clone and you can come as back-up. I'm only taking Neji and Hinata with me. The rest of you, prepare the traps here—just in case," he said and turned around before Naruto grabbed his arm again.

"Here, let me tie it around your wrist!" Naruto said in an excited voice, his eyes shining, and produced a weird charm out of his pocket.

Sasuke gritted his teeth and slapped it away. "Hey! It's from my mother, you grouchy jerk!" Naruto squatted and picked it up from the mud.

"Superstitious fool," Sasuke grumbled and jumped up—followed by Neji and Hinata. They left Naruto behind as he waved the charm in the air and begged Sasuke to take it inside his pocket, at least, for protection.

It took them roughly fifteen minutes to arrive at the spot where the other two ninjas were. Naruto's clones grinned happily when they saw Sasuke. "Boss, they're lying only about forty meters away from here," one of them whispered as the other poked his head out of the thick bush and took a gander at the space between two big trees where the bodies lay.

Sasuke turned on his Sharingan. He could not see anything out of the ordinary. "Keep your Byakugans active. I'll go first and then Hinata can follow you two," he said in a low voice and curled his fingers around the hilt of the katana. "One of you stays here, Naruto. The other comes with me. Let's go."

One of the Bunshins' stood behind him and readied himself to flash-step out. Sasuke used body flicker and stopped right next to the bodies, with Naruto about twenty meters behind. He immediately hid behind a tree and readied himself with two smoke bombs in his tight fists. Sasuke looked around and did not find any trap next to the bodies. He signalled Naruto who gestured Neji and Hinata to make their way out of their hiding places.

Neji turned on his Byakugan, but his sight was quite blurry. He had been using Byakugan for the entire day and without any respite from the arduous task—he understood now why Sasuke had decided to bring Hinata along. He flickered up the tree and scanned the area, but his eyes failed him. He could not see very far, so he immediately took a _soldier pill_ he had stashed away inside his pocket.

The pill eased up the burden on his vision but only just. His eyes were strained for the day. Now, it was up to Hinata's Byakugan to scan the area; but Hinata's heartbeats were like the sounds from a beating drum in her breast. She shook with the pressure mounting in her veins. This was too much for her. Why did Sasuke bring her along—today of all the days? She felt a strange sense of resentment towards him. He was supposed to . . . help her, even just a little! He was not being fair!

She jerked her head up when she felt Naruto's hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry! Sasuke has his Sharingan on. You'll be all right," the clone assured her with a warm smile. Hinata looked at him, almost taken aback by the loving smile on his face. Her eyes burnt with tears, but she looked away before he could see her resolve crumble before him.

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she stepped out of the bushes. She started for the other tree about twenty meters away from where Neji was. She only made it midway when Sasuke's ears wriggled and his eyes widened. Her foot sank into something, and it twisted her ankle almost painfully.

A barrage of _Senbons_ flew towards her. She could not even react. It happened so fast! She saw a bright sliver of something and a brighter spray of red. The trees whooshed past her eyes like a raging torrent, and she squeezed her eyes shut from the searing pain in her ankle. She got thrown to the right and hit the ground hard. She opened her eyes and looked at Sasuke through a blurry vision. The ache in her body was replaced by the warmth of Naruto's engulfing arms.

"Are you all right, Hinata?" he asked, worried, but she kept looking forward, hair flowing in the gentle wind, a single tear clinging desperately to the tip of her nose.

Sasuke stood upside down on a thick tree branch now, a sardonic smile dancing about his lips. "Not very classy, targeting a weak girl like that," Sasuke said with a smile in his voice and bent his legs slightly to jump off the tree.

He landed smoothly on the ground and watched with satisfaction as the man had yet to realize that he had been cut open at eight different places. A spray of blood jutted out of his deep wounds, and he thudded to the ground—dead!

"Sasuke-Sama," Neji rushed to Sasuke and then looked at Hinata for a fleeting moment, "are you all right? Hinata . . . "

Hinata was breathing heavily, her eyes vacant. Fear had her in its clasp. She had never come this close to death before. Her heart was racing with such madness, unable to find _that_ right rhythm. "She stepped on a trap. I told her to keep her Byakugan on," Sasuke said without looking at her, his eyes locked on the dwarfish shrubs a few meters away.

"Sasuke-Sama, we have to—" Neji began and focused his vision on the purple skin on her ankle: it had been bruised and stretched taught.

"There's no use hiding. Come out, or I'll just kill you where you're hiding. I don't like playing hide and seek," Sasuke cut him off, holding his gaze.

A sharp and bright electrical current went up and stabbed through the bark overhead. Not a second later, a dribble of blood plopped on Neji's cheek. It was as if colours washed over the man and he materialized! His eyes popped out of his sockets as Sasuke's Chidori blade's tip had run through his left lung.

He made a hand seal and started something with a loud sizzling sound. "He's still conscious!" Neji yelled and held his palm out to use Air Palm, but before he could try anything, several sword-like Raiton blades speared out of his body like a bright star. His torso exploded in a shower of red. He died violently, and, as soon as Sasuke stopped the flow of Raiton, he fell down onto the grassy ground.

"He isn't now," Sasuke said and clenched and unclenched his fizzing hand. Then he looked at Naruto. "Her ankle is probably broken. Take her to the infirmary. She's done for the day." He walked for the bodies lying beneath a tattered cloth, not looking behind towards Hinata who was still clutched by mortal fear.

"Now, will you look at that," Sasuke said, chuckling, as he lifted up the clean corner of the bloody cloth and revealed clumps of blond hair matted in blood and mud. The man's face was frozen in mid-scream and intense agony.

"Is that . . . _Fū_?" Neji said with an incredulous expression. "This isn't good. Root never told us that one of Danzō's guards had gone missing. They'll have a field day with this."

"They won't have a field day with anything. Just write down a few consolatory lines and slap it in their faces. This was never our problem. They just dragged us needlessly into this. Let Yamanaka Clan handle their own troubles," Sasuke said distastefully and stood up.

Neji nodded in reply. Sasuke was right—it was not their problem. He looked back to Naruto as he carried Hinata away from the area. Her face was still deathly pale. He did not know how to feel about this. But, perhaps, Sasuke had made the right call. If she wanted to stay, she would have to face this sooner or later—better now than never!

# # # # # #

When night hit, the wind became rough. Old wooden windows rattled, and the lantern's flame flickered. It was dark inside Itachi's office, and the noise outside nearly drowned out his calm voice. Sasuke sat across the table from his brother on the tatami mat. Fire blazed in the hearth and warmed the office.

"Is this all of it?" Itachi asked and ran his eyes down the medical report compiled by Sakura.

"Yes, Nii-Sama," Sasuke paused and pursed his lips, "though I'm sure Yuu could have done a better job."

A ghostly smile crossed Itachi's lips. "She is a lot more talented than you give her credit for. You just do not seem to enjoy her company, that is all," he said gently, getting a little amused by the formation of a frown on Sasuke's face. "So the neck was almost completely severed? This was done so cleanly. Whoever did this is an exceptional swordsman."

Sasuke did not say anything. He looked to his brother as he placed the scroll next to the weakly glowing lantern and locked his eyes with his. Red rose from deep inside his black eyes and spread like a vivid stain there—a wound. Then they took on the carefully crafted shuriken patterns of Mangekyō Sharingan. Not desiring to meet his brother's eyes, Sasuke looked down, bowing respectfully. "Can I take my leave, Nii-Sama?" he asked, not looking up.

Itachi took in a deep breath and said, "look at me, Sasuke."

Despite not wanting to, Sasuke raised his eyes slowly and they came alive like a pulsing red heart. The colours disappeared in the world around them, and he found himself in a monochromatic realm, sitting on his brother's lap . . . in the form of a small child.

The child buried his face into Itachi's breast, feeling the slow and loud thumps of his heart vibrate through his fingers and limbs. He could hear it—he could _actually_ hear the beats of his brother's young heart!

Itachi had turned into a twelve-year-old boy. He smiled and touched Sasuke's soft round cheek tenderly. "Sasuke," Itachi said in the voice of a boy and held his tiny hand in his, "did you . . . kill _Fū_?" Itachi's expression changed and an innocent kind of curiosity enveloped his young face, his eyes a little wide as he looked at the small and anxious face of his younger brother.

The world around them quivered like something alive and restless, and black rain descended down heavily. The mist roiled everywhere as Itachi's soft words seem to echo endlessly. Sasuke, still in the form of a four-year-old child, kept looking down at the broken toy by his feet. Suddenly, his lips quivered into a smile . . .

# # # # # #

 **Canon Manga Info** : This chapter showed the advanced shape manipulation of Chidori Blade: the more varied a change in form is, the more complex a technique is, which, in turn, depictures the talent and skill of the user (as stated in the manga and the Databook).

Sasuke, contrary to the popular beliefs (and there are many made-up beliefs in this regard), is the best Raiton-user and Ninjutsu-user in the manga bar none, as all of his Raiton techniques (bar one and he has nine of those) are divided between A and S ranks in terms of Nin-Jutsu complexity.

Furthermore, when Sasuke reversed Sage of the Six Paths best Nin-Jutsu endeavour (faster than the time it took for Kurama to complete its short dialogue, which was filled with caution for its host), **The Creation of All Things** (as Kurama stated), he turned a colossal and mountainous amount of Bijū chakra into Raiton; thus, he applied highly advanced Nature and Form/Shape Manipulation on the said chakra (he created several weapons out of the morphed chakra in a matter of seconds), whilst simultaneously morphing his Perfect Susanoo into a Gedo-Mezo (which Kurama explained).

Keep that in mind that the Susanoo's shape's nothing more than stabilization of and control on chakra—another thing explicitly mentioned in the manga. Which is why Kurama compared Sasuke's skill and talent, no one else's (despite being Lord knows how old and having seen countless Shinobis in its lifetime since the Sage), to Sage of the Six Paths. Sakura, actually, is the weakest link in regards to Ninjutsu talent in Team-7. She's talented, but she isn't even close to Naruto and Kakashi, let alone Sasuke, on this front. I'll touch more upon this in the coming chapters' **Author Notes**.

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	12. Cornered in the Dark

**Chapter Twelve** : Cornered in the Dark

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It was night and the mission was done. Sasuke's ears picked up the sound of a night owl from a distance. It was hooting behind the naked branches that could barely withstand the cold now. Large yellow eyes stared at him for a second before the owl flew off south. Wind whistled through the gaps now, disturbing the layer of frost upon the branches. Dissonant sounds of night crickets rose up into the air from within the dwarfish myrtles. A few sparse flowers still adorned their branches despite the biting chill of autumn.

Sasuke walked for a few more minutes, nearly hidden under the mantle of thick mist, when a small village slowly loomed into view. Two large fires waxed and waned in the distance. He was wearing a hood, his face hidden perfectly. He was there on a personal errand, well beyond the confines of Konoha life and his duty as a Shinobi.

Two large fires were burning by the gate. It was not really a gate, just an entrance created with two large logs put into the damp ground. These people were gypsies—or that's what people in the powerful Hidden Villages called them; a fancy term for the misfits. They set up shop wherever they felt like and sent off pigeons to their customers; it was a place for prostitution and gambling.

A scraggy looking man with a bushy moustache stretched his arm to stop him. He was holding a large rusty sickle in his hand. Sasuke's eyes caught sight of a thick black glob clinging to its jagged tip. It was poisoned with night flower: the deadliest poison in the entire realm. Even a slight whiff of its perfumy scent was enough to give one an excruciating, painful fever and a pain that did not abate for weeks. Any direct contact with the blood vessels meant a sure shot trip to the other side. These people grew them in pots. Maybe that's why it was called the Hidden Night Flower Village?

The scruffy man puckered his lips and threw greenish spittle into the bushes in front. When he opened his mouth, Sasuke saw only five black teeth. His breath was so foul that he could smell it from five feet away.

"The token, young'un," he asked and wore a mean look on his messy face ruined by time and bad hygiene.

Sasuke reached into his pocket and produced a gold token. He did not say anything and watched as the man grinned, showing off his rotten gums and pulling the sickle back. "Ah, _that_ rich customer," he said with a smile and looked over his shoulder at a small woman. "Yoshino, make sure he stays comfortable." He twirled the sickle's handle between his fingers encrusted with blood and dirt. His fingernails were long and black—he was (probably) the dirtiest looking man Sasuke had ever seen.

As she approached them, her powdered face came into the light: she was wearing a traditional dancer's makeup, and her long hair was gathered into a fancy bun. "Why don't you pull that hood back? I can bet you're _really_ beautiful," she simpered and strained her neck to take a good look at his eyes. The sight of gold had just made her greedy. When Sasuke remained silent, she smiled and turned around. "This way."

Sasuke followed her and walked past the large flames that stood as tall as monsters on the oil. As he passed through the gate, he noticed it had been secured with a powerful protection barrier. A few Uzumaki women lived as prostitutes here and were famous for their sealing techniques. The barrier probably paralyzed anyone who tried to enter the village without the token.

Sasuke gave a sideways glance to the tents scattered about the large area. They were made out of thick rugs so that only a little light escaped the tiny holes and frayed edges. Yoshino stopped by a large ridge-tent and gestured Sasuke to proceed inside. He did not give her another glance and lifted the heavy cloth to go in.

It was quite spacious, and the inside was luxuriously decorated with the finest rugs and small wooden furniture. He gazed back, his eyes looking beyond the fabric of the tent to see that Yoshino was gone. A red-haired woman sat next to a small table with quite an expensive mahogany veneer. Her cheeks were rosy red, and she kept staring at him with a slack mouth.

Finally, after a few seconds, she gasped and smiled lovingly. "Sasuke!" she exclaimed and scrambled to her feet to clasp her arms around his waist. "I haven't seen you in ages. I've missed you!"

"You know I can't come here on your whim, Karin," he said with irritation in his voice and pulled back his hood.

Karin strained her neck and tip-toed to give him a peck on the lips. Sasuke's countenance did not change. "You used to love fucking me," she teased and wore a gloomy expression on her sly countenance.

"I don't remember ever saying that," Sasuke said and pushed her back slightly to shrug off the large scruffy-looking robe. It had no pockets or a proper collar, and it looked like a dirty rag a poor farmer would wear. His plain grey kimono and black hakama would not have made him stand out, either.

"So cold," Karin said in a musical voice, playfully sat back down on the rug, and opened her legs suggestively.

"Is that why you have called me here?" Sasuke asked with the flick of his hand, looking down as she pulled at her kimono's collar a little to reveal a pert nipple. "I have better things to do. Don't waste my time. If you have nothing, then I'm leaving."

Karin sat up straight and let out a childish, breathy sound. "Sasuke, don't—stay with me," she said aloud and pulled a small scroll from inside the vase that was sitting on the table. "I do have something." She held up the scroll with a seductive smile dancing on her lips.

Sasuke threw the robe aside and sat down, taking the scroll from Karin's hand. "This better be worth my time—and money," he said with a heavy accent. He stopped for a moment and looked at the whorls on the rug in front and bathed his eyes in red.

"I've checked—there's no one around," Karin assured and sat down behind him. "Open it. I've been gathering Intel on _Fū_. He comes here often—the limp bastard. I keep telling him that thickness isn't everything. But only the Sage knows, he cries until I don't give him herbs. The tiny thing just doesn't stand up, otherwise." She laughed, nuzzling his neck and slipping her hand under the collar of his kimono.

Sasuke stopped halfway and turned his head to look at her and then proceeded to unroll it again. "I hope you've gathered more than your discovery that he's almost a eunuch," he said in an offhanded manner and ran his eyes down the scroll.

Karin broke into a loud laugh and propped herself on her knees. "Oh, Sasuke, you can be so funny!" she broke off and ran her fingers through his windblown hair, "I did everything you told me."

"I didn't ask you to sleep with him," Sasuke said and stopped to read the part that made his lips go dry.

"I didn't have to, but I did it for you," she gasped out and planted kisses along his neck and clung to him tighter. "Aren't you proud of me, Sasuke?"

"He doesn't know anything," he said in a low dull voice, his face warping suddenly, his eyes filling to the brim with a delightful malice that seemed to make his lips quiver with excitement.

Karin laughed softly into his ear, her hair tickling his face and neck. "I used a Fuin-Jutsu seal on him. No one can see it but me. He wrote this himself. Minato and your precious Hyūga clan? Not so innocent," she said and crawled her way around to straddle his waist and sit down on his lap. "You're proud of me, right? I would've done it for you without the money. You know I love you, don't you?"

Sasuke wore a sly smile and ran his fingers down her neck to remove the pendant she wore. "I need more information on the Hyūgas. He couldn't have known the entire truth," he said in a soft voice and watched her gasp as he teasingly pushed the silky fabric of her kimono aside to stroke the smooth skin around her hard nipple with his thumb.

"Only if you stay and lend me your night," Karin cooed and pulled her kimono down to her waist to reveal her sweaty breasts.

"He's _still_ here, isn't he? Spending the night with another whore?" Sasuke asked without kindness and pulled out the sheath from under his belt—it still had his most trusted sword. "I wonder if he even remembers you. Your seals can make people so forgetful." He emitted a soft, raspy laugh and pulled her closer.

"You asked me to make it that way. So mean, Sasuke. Poor thing, it'll only disappear when he dies," Karin said with a smile on her face. She knew Sasuke was staying for the night.

Sasuke did not say anything and leant forward to claim her lips that were parted with a hungry desperation and longing for easy and quick passions.

It was like a ritual to him—a dull and routine ritual. His newfound revenge had consumed him so much that even the warmth of a woman's body did not calm his anger. Sasuke lay naked with Karin beside him under the sheets. He half arose from the floor-bed and cast a quick look around the tent and beyond. His Sharingan never lied to him—it laid bare the deceit.

He gathered himself to a sitting position and grabbed the discarded kimono and hakama when he heard an owl hoot loudly outside. His whole body was sweaty and hot. He felt a little feverish. Karin always liked to fool around a lot, and it took too much of his time. After carrying out team exercises and two missions today, this long, long physical session with her was hurting his back like hell!

He never liked women to take the lead in bed, but it was always impossible to play with Karin after a long day's work and not suffer for a day afterwards. The woman was crazy—body and mind. He vaguely guessed it to be a blessing of their distinct life forces, but he was not too sure of this wild guess.

With an enormous effort, he got to his feet, feeling a persistent twinge right at the base of his spine. He ignored it defiantly, buried it deep under the blaze of his pride, and put on his clothes. When he reached down to grab his sword, for a moment, the pain made him feel that his spine might break in half. He did not let it express itself on his face, albeit his blood-shot eyes looked miserable. Never again would he come here on busy days— _never!_

"Sasuke," said Karin dreamily from behind him, "don't go. I want to play some more." She sat up and pushed down the sheets to reveal her naked body.

"You're not tired, but I am," he said in an irritated tone and frowned to make a point. "It would be day soon. I've put gold coins in the vase. I have to go."

"You lie down—I'll ride you myself," she purred, licking her soft lips that still bore the pink hue of sweet, angry kisses.

Her beautiful red hair draped over her shoulders shone in the dim light of the tent, and her naked body glistened with sweat. On a normal day, this would have aroused him, but now, the whole feeling disappeared like footprints in the sand. He looked at her with a cold, impassive face and heaved a sigh before picking up that dirty robe.

"I want to join your team," she suddenly said and stood up, looking at him with a shy expression that was quite unbecoming of her. "You said I can."

Sasuke stood in silence, his mind racing, his heart delightfully thumping out a new tune in his breast. He could kill so many birds with so few stones. He drew the incense-filled air into his lungs and breathed out loudly. "Not until you leave this place," he said and kept his emotions trapped firmly underneath his skin that tingled with the formation of a nice and clever mind-game.

"But you know it's not that easy. I've got—"

"That's not my worry. I can't keep a harlot on my team. No one would allow it," he said in a less gentle tone, and wore the robe and pulled the hood over his head. "You can reach me if you change your mind." He pulled the mask up to cover half of his face and left the tent in silence.

When he stepped out, the darkness of night was still thick around him. He looked to his left and found _Fū_ talking to the guard. Karin had not lied to him: _Fū_ always left when the owl hooted thrice outside his tent; the fool's animal alarm-clock to finish himself off quickly. Sasuke kept his distance, wearing the talisman with a Fuin-Jutsu mark that sealed the scent and strength of his chakra for some time.

 _Fū_ looked his way; he was kneading his chakra to sense trouble. Sasuke's chakra was suppressed to a large degree, his scent gone. He must have appeared to be an ordinary man to him. A calm smile graced _Fū_ face as he walked out of the gate beyond the secure barrier of the village.

Sasuke did not hesitate and followed him beyond the gates; the darkness of night consumed his form whole. Sasuke's steps were firm and unrelenting, his resolve made—this forest would be _Fū_ grave! Sasuke's path was flanked by the dark forest, his eyes losing before the overwhelming darkness, but a spark of light flashed in the sky and briefly illuminated his way. The moon was safely hidden, trapped under the heavy drape of clouds.

He could not see a thing now and relied on his ninja senses. _Fū_ was walking about fifty feet ahead. He had turned off his long-ranged sensing. The dry leaves crackled beneath his sandals as he took quick steps towards the lights of a small village about a mile away. He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks when he sensed a strong, familiar chakra growing dangerously close to him.

Sasuke's chakra was too strong, and the seal was failing to keep it suppressed; it was disappearing fast! If Sasuke did not make his move now, all was lost. _Fū_ suddenly turned around and made a seal with his fingers to use Body-Transfer technique. It travelled in the direction of a hooded figure, Sasuke, standing still under the luminescent throng of insects. He disappeared suddenly, leaving _Fū_ alone for a mere second.

The seal completely vanished and released the monstrously potent chakra trapped underneath it, and it flared out with full force. Cold sweat broke out on _Fū_ face that, when the autumn wind caressed his skin, it left a stabbing pain all over his body.

"Sasuke . . ." a tiny whisper escaped his lips and then his back crashed into the thick tree.

Sasuke's had his throat in his hand. He tightened his grip, making _Fū_ gasp for air. "What did Minato find out about the demon?" Sasuke hissed and pulled out the sharp sword from its sheath. His eyes burnt with a distinct red colour that was alive, pulsing and whirling in the midst of the white pools.

"I bet you paid some woman—to get that out of me. Those Flower Village whores and their wretched seals. You won't get away with co-cornering me like this," he barely managed between grunts.

Sasuke lifted him up and tightened his grip again around his throat. He slammed _Fū_ 's head thrice against the bark till his body almost went limp and watched with cold eyes as blood trailed down the back of his neck, staining his blond hair red. "I won't ask you again," he warned, inching closer until the warm breath from his lips blew over _Fū_ 's face, "what did he find out?"

 _Fū_ strained himself to look down. He moved his hand quickly to make that same seal again. He was slower this time, slow enough not to see Sasuke move the tip of his sword and drive it straight into his hand, pinning it to the tree. A miserable grunt rose from _Fū_ 's throat as he tried to reach his pinned hand in vain.

He stopped moving and gulped, realizing that the Fuin-Jutsu used by someone on him had removed the Root seal on his tongue. Sasuke had someone strong and talented working for him: an Uzumaki woman! But he could not remember _her_ for the life of him. He closed his eyes; his fate was sealed. It was either this or the Sharingan Genjutsu.

"That—some Uchiha's eyes were involved in the essence leaking out," he said from between his clenched teeth and stared down into the bewitching red eyes looking at him from under the hood.

"Bullshit—don't fuck with me!" Sasuke spat at him, his fingers trembling with rage.

"I-It's the truth," Fuu gasped out and stopped to catch his breath, "Danzō gave Minato the evidence. He didn't question it. N-Not once. I don't know anything else other than the one Mangekyō Sharingan he took from somewhere. Why he did it? I-I don't know. I'm just a servant."

"He took a Mangekyō Sharingan . . . " Sasuke said incredulously as if talking to himself. "I don't understand. Who did he take it from?" His grip slackened and his mind raced to make sense of it all.

"I don't know. I-I swear it," _Fū_ sputtered and moved his free hand up to try and loosen Sasuke's death grip again.

"Stop lying. You know I can get it out of you easily. Do you have no dignity?" Sasuke asked and gazed at him with an expression of disgust upon his countenance, mingled with something of a cool smile.

 _Fū_ laughed in reply and coughed afterwards to pull in a bit of air. "You Uchihas, so prideful. You're nothing but a dying clan. You would follow the Senju to your graves soon. It's only a matter of time when clans like ours—who have done nothing but serve you for decades, earn their right to rule. You can't even rid yourself of the dog you keep dragging along—a poor dog whose reins are pulled by Minato. He would be the d-death of you—if you survive this night!" he said with hatred flashing in his eyes as he turned his gaze around to peer into the darkness.

"Who're you looking for?" Sasuke asked and pulled down his mask and hood to reveal his bloodstained face. "Your little company has perished."

 _Fū_ 's eyes frantically searched around, and when lightning scurried across the sky, they found two of his guards dead next to a tree about fifteen feet away. That heart was in a sudden grip of delicious, mortal fear, weakly slamming against his rib-cage as if in protest.

"You think I'm some fool?" Sasuke mocked and curled his lips to show him his sneer in the intermittent flashes. "You're exactly where you belong, feeding off the scraps of my clan. I'll make sure they shame themselves openly and die out, starving and unwanted on the verges of Fire country—just like your clan did with _my_ people!"

"No—wait!" _Fū_ protested, but Sasuke's red eyes had already snared his senses, revealing all of his most vile secrets. His memories could not scurry far enough; they could not hide from his clairvoyant eyes.

He stood in a black and white world, shamed and humiliated before Sasuke. "I don't need you anymore," Sasuke said in a resonating voice, contorting his face in a cruel smile that spelt his fate. "Don't worry, Danzō will follow you soon."

 _Fū_ 's eyes rolled back into his head, his scream unable to make it past his throat as Sasuke clove his neck through with a single, clean stroke of his blade. Blood exploded out of his neck and splashed the side of Sasuke's face. He thudded to the ground, his whole body convulsing with the last dregs of life left within him. Suddenly, he went still. He was dead.

Fresh, warm blood bubbled out of his nearly severed neck and pooled around him. The seals he had placed on his guards would wipe their memories clean. He bent down and slapped one on _Fū_ 's forehead as well. It disappeared and rid his mind of any memories of Sasuke and his chakra.

Sasuke just stood there, holding his sword, his face emotionless and his fingers curled firmly around the hilt. _Fū_ 's blood rolled down the sharp edge of the blade, which let nothing cling to its smooth surface. The next moment, rain came pouring down hard; he leant his head back and closed his eyes to relish the water that would cleanse this necessary sin.

He stood there for several minutes in silence, feeling the heavy rain lash his face and drench his clothes. _Fū_ 's blood had washed away from his face and old clothes, lost in the ground. He would be forgotten in a few days, replaced by another Yamanaka lapdog for Danzō. But it did not matter to him. Danzō's grave was dug . . . and he would be the last one to stand over his defeated corpse. He smiled to himself and walked away and left his venial sin behind.

# # # # # #

"Sasuke," Itachi asked tenderly and stroked Sasuke's messy hair, "did you . . . kill _Fū_?"

Sasuke twiddled his thumbs as though he was upset and then lifted his head to look up at his brother's kind face. His big innocent eyes, filled with such emptiness, wrenched at Itachi's heart. "What if I did?" he said in a small voice, and his cheeks grew red with a child's fury.

"Why did you do it? You know it's not right," Itachi said and produced a small sparrow origami from his pocket, his tall menacing body flickering towards him in the real world.

Sasuke took it from his hand and placed it in his lap. "I don't like him. He got our clan killed. He deserved to die!" he said aloud in rhythm with his quivering lips in the real world that were muted by a cold wash of illusions.

Itachi intensified the Genjutsu to pacify his fear and anger when he forcefully tried to jump out of it. A little gasp escaped Sasuke's lips that were as dry as dust now. The weight of Itachi's tricks was taking its toll on his mind—so much so that blood rose in his clear eyes.

"Nii-San, let me out!" Sasuke pleaded with panic scurrying across his small face that had the innocence of an ignorant child. He clung to Itachi and looked around with fearful eyes as the darkness spread to approach him with soundless steps . . . waiting to swallow them whole. His real body defiantly tried to evoke the slumbering Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan to his eyes, making them bleed profusely.

"Sasuke, calm your heart. I will not hurt you," Itachi assured with the eloquence of a man from a boy's mouth and quickly created crows out of the darkness that flew all around them. "I just want to know. There has to be more to this. Just tell me. Why did you do this?" And then he came closer and the vision became unbearable for his mind and body. His small form shuddered, a dry leaf in the keen autumn's wind.

"Nii-Sama, will you kill me? Are you going to kill me?" Sasuke asked in a shaky voice, his clear tears changing in the illusion, his small white face soaked red with blood like a soft and porous cloth; he was ghastly!

Sasuke was not backing down and it was hurting him. Itachi stopped the illusion and sighed heavily at the sight of bloody tears trailing down Sasuke's cheeks. His eyes trembled, and a moment later, darkness fell over them. He slumped down to his knees, exhausted, head bowed low before Itachi, as he sat shivering in his shadow.

He looked up when he felt Itachi's hand on his head. "So stubborn," he spoke as if he was whispering, "look what you have done now—gone off and made a little mess for your brother. Tell me this time . . . will you?" He stroked his hair very slowly, gazing down at him. There was a soft, fleeting look in his hard red eyes. It was fleeting but it was there.

Sasuke did not say anything. He lowered his head again and pulled in a shaky breath. The room felt cold, sinister. His eyes roamed around in frantic search of something, as though he was actually waiting for the crows to cross the weak barrier of his vision and come flying out of the slithering darkness in the room.

"Clean your face," Itachi said in a manner as though a command and left the room with slow steps.

Sasuke shuddered, his spine tingling. The shadow was gone . . .

# # # # # #

Night was always a cruel mistress to Hinata. She lay alone in her bed. Sasuke had treated her so coldly today. He did not even say farewell. Naruto was not home—even Neji had to write reports. She felt so miserable tonight.

The open window in the sitting room slammed against the wall repeatedly in the wind, but she did not close it. She was too tired. Her ankle was better, but why was Sasuke so aloof? It saddened her, and without much of a reason, tears pricked her eyes. She wept silently, looking up at the empty ceiling covered with the shadows of crooked trees crafted by the moonlight.

Her eyes wandered aimlessly. She lay there for hours, finally exhausting herself to sleep. She did not even have an hour of peace when a warm breath on her face roused her out of slumber. She jerked her head up, frightened at the sight of Naruto staring down at her with a red glow in his eyes. She could not see his face clearly, but his eyes—they were scaring the life out of her!

"N-Naruto-Kun?" she asked with hesitation and pulled the sheets up to cover her bosom.

Naruto lowered his head and sniffed her face and bosom. He violently pulled the sheets off her and took a long and thoughtful whiff of a scent lingering on her body. Hinata tried to move back, but Naruto grabbed hold of her wrist suddenly.

He leant his head forward and stretched his neck out; his hard face came into view in the clear moonlight, marred by an animal hunger she had never seen before. "What's this scent on you?" he asked in a voice that made a chill crawl up her spine.

She was alone, and Naruto did not look happy . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : Yoshino was a popular name for prostitutes from the heights of the courtesans' hierarchy to the depths of the lowest brothels. It also shows up as a name for kamuros.

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	13. A Predator and its Prey

**Chapter Thirteen** : A Predator and its Prey

 **Canon-Manga Info** : The Sharingan (at 3-Tomoe stage) is naturally equipped with an ability to suppress the Bijū, control summons, and put foes under a very powerful Genjutsu that can't be broken through ' **Genjutsu Kai'** : a fact that's explicitly stated and shown in the manga and databook. The affected individual requires another person to break free from a 3-T Sharingan Genjutsu; the ' **Two-Men Rule** ' is talked about by Chiyo and the Databook. Which is why Orochimaru's whole dimension was turned against him by Sasuke's Genjutsu (his **Immortality Technique** has nothing to do with his health as Kabuto stated in the manga), despite him being a Genjutsu expert; Shī fell under it when he, too, is an expert; Danzō required several Sharingans to break free of Sasuke's short (albeit very potent) Genjutsu; so on and so forth. But that had more to do with Sasuke being a ' **true heir** ' of the Sharingan, an Uchiha. (This is mentioned by Obito after Danzō's defeat, as well.)

Kurama's the only exception to the "two-men" rule: an Uchiha requires **Mangekyō Sharingan** first and foremost to control Kurama, but he can suppress it very easily provided that a 'perfect' control hasn't been established on the Tailed-Beast. And Sasuke did just that when he and Team-7 were re-united for the first time in the manga. Killer Bee didn't break out of the Genjutsu, Hachibi broke him out of it by fulfilling the ' **Two-Men Rule** ' required for breaking the Genjutsu (when Itachi and Sasuke put him under Genjutsu). And the reason for it was that that Killer Bee had established a perfect link with his beast; otherwise, he would've never been able to break out of the Genjutsu, Mangekyō Sharingan or otherwise. Perfect Jinchūrikis are not immune to Ocular Genjutsu: case in point, Yagura.

 **Warning** : Black Humour. (I'm leaving these warnings along the way to make the readers understand as to how I've approached various Genres and Themes in this fiction.)

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That animal hunger moved towards his glassy blue eyes and slowly took them under the cover of a cruel redness, the way a weary old man moves the boat through the rough sand to the waters of a tranquil lake. Unreal. Ominous. Hinata's heart and body felt enervated by the palpable aura his virile body radiated. Amidst the darkness of the room, his eyes appeared red as if set ablaze inside a furnace.

His face played hide and seek, disappearing and reappearing with the bright flashes in the sky; rain was heralding something different this time. But she did not care; her eyes desperately tried to trace the contours of his warped features hidden cleverly under the swirling red aura oozing out of his pores like an odious surprise—it was a chilly scene.

Hinata's wrist was still in his grasp. She twisted it a little, but despite the wetness of his palm, she still could not quite break it free. Her breath burnt her throat dry and cold sweat drops stood quivering on her face. Cold wind, loading her face with chilly caresses, left her in pain. She remained silent and watched as Naruto sat still, his eyes fixed on her, her face drenched in nothing but carnal fear.

What was happening to him? She wanted to call out to Sasuke, scream out to him, whisper his name in the hope that he would hear her tiny voice, but it was such a silly thought that a part of her sneered at her foolishness.

She wanted to be brave, but her eyes, those silly, silly eyes, began to give in to the usual helplessness she always felt. They pricked and burnt, and before she could stop them from revealing her weakness, small tears began to trace the lines of her miserable face. Then a powerful sob shook her whole body, but she clamped her lips shut; she did not want him to know that she was so afraid of him and this new ugly side of his.

Naruto was still quiet, his ragged breaths nearly drowning out the sharp hiss of the wind. Hinata did not know what to say, what to do, except look through the haze in her eyes and try and meet his burning gaze. Those eyes, which trickled nothing but fear into her mortal breast, felt as if they were slitting the fabric of her soul in two.

Only seconds had passed since Hinata woke up in this menacing hour of the night, but the drag of time was making her feel almost old and weary. The pendulum of the clock moved slowly for her, and its sluggish back-and-forth motions were taking a toll on her mind. Suddenly, she realized that she was all alone: Sasuke was not here; Neji was not beside her; and she never could count on her own family . . .

Hinata was truly alone and at the mercy of a man who was a complete mystery to her—a mystery she did not want to unravel. Her breaths came out quicker than before, and she realized something as a sharp pain began to throb in her wrist: Naruto was slowly increasing the force of his grip!

"N-Naruto-Kun . . . " she paused and puffed out her breast as she sucked in a few breaths, "w-what's wrong? Are you all right?" she asked with hesitation and peered into the darkness to see his face clearly. Only silence greeted her.

The heavy drape of darkness had made Hinata nearly blind. The wind from outside snuffed out the last flickering flame in the lantern that was placed close to the window. A thin line of smoke rose up from it, only to disappear in the drafts of wind. She leant a little closer when Naruto remained in the same state. She was chilled to the bone by his feral expression.

"I asked, what's this scent on you?" his voice rumbled deep in his throat, throbbing with emotions she had never seen him feel before—envy and rage.

"I don't know what y-you're talking about," Hinata stuttered like she always did, but this time, a sense of humiliation enveloped her. She felt ashamed how fearful she sounded, sitting alone with Naruto on her bed in the darkness—a dream she had always wished to come true.

But this reality had crushed the soft visage of that innocent dream that now it lay weeping somewhere in her mind. It needed the light touch of illusion; she needed it to keep her sane. She wanted to hide Sasuke and his scent deep within her and never let it leave her skin. If it left her, then it would remain but an evanescent memory, devoid of the love she secretly asked of him. How cruel this was and how rueful she felt at the thought that Sasuke was that last thin string of web keeping her happy.

How desperate had Hinata truly become? Only now she fully grasped the depths of her life's emptiness. She would not let Naruto win, not this time; she would not let him snatch that last bit of joy away from her. So she remained silent like a little child, fearful but stubborn in its denial. Seconds passed slowly again, and she felt Naruto inch closer to take a long thoughtful whiff of the scent she exuded.

"There is something on you. Why—why won't you tell me?" he asked, his voice shaking and becoming louder and louder as though a machine running without oil, grating and annoying.

"Naruto-Kun, I-I don't—" Hinata's words got lost behind the scream that forced its way out of her throat. Naruto had twisted her hand around, and the liquid-like aura, trickling out of his body, was like acid on her tender skin. She heard her own skin sizzle and burn the way a juicy piece of meat was roasted on hot coals!

A foul stench of her roasting flesh crept into her nostrils and another hoarse cry rent through the still air of the room. "Why are you screaming?" Naruto asked in a voice that had a strong note of amusement. "I can smell something, and you are still—lying. Hinata, you're such a liar!"

Naruto inched closer, and the film of darkness between them disappeared. The redness glowed, like a fire around him, and spread beyond the shadow of his body but halted just a few inches around the contours of his body. The red aura was alive. Evil. He was evil. Hinata bit her lower lip, drawing blood, her vision blurring as she looked on in terror at his contorted face.

The skin above Naruto's upper lip twitched with pleasure. He drew his lips back, gave a crazed cackle, and dug his nails into the tissues that were steadily burning under his touch. Hinata threw her head back; she hit it on the headboard and turned her scream into a miserably stifled yelp.

"Liar liar liar—" he broke off to let out another grating laugh, "liar liar liar. Hinata is a liar. Hinata is a liar."

She whimpered and struggled as her hand slowly turned to coal in his death-grip. "N-Naruto—" she choked out and desperately scrambled to get away from him. Her tear streaked face showed nothing but misery.

Naruto, still wearing that hard smile, leant his head down. His alcohol-soaked breath was a stinging acidic fog on her skin. He had been drinking again; but the foul odour of his breaths and whatever rueful tale lay behind them did not even cross her mind. She just wanted to get away and run into the forest. This man was going to kill her!

The wind had slackened a bit that now only a dull whistling sound came in through the window. The room was now glowing with a distinct red aura. Had it been any other night, Hinata would have found it lovely and soothing. Now, it just looked dreadful to her. Her ordeal was not over. The searing pain was not abating, and Naruto had become this vile monster in the dark who was taking perverse pleasure in tormenting her.

"Tell me, Hi-na-ta," Naruto hissed, twisted her arm around, and rolled her onto her stomach. A loud crack resonated in the room. Hinata screamed into the sheets—the scream came out as pitiful gurgling sounds. Her spittle clung to her cheek, and the mucus crawling down her nose slipped between her lips. She looked beyond the thick haze over her eyes at the fresh, warm blood leaking profusely from her wounds.

Naruto had completely snapped her wrist, yet it did not stop him from twisting her arm even more. The skin cleaving to the burnt tissues peeled off like old wallpaper, falling on the heavily stained bed in a ghastly manner. The pain . . . it was unlike she had ever experienced before. It burnt like fire through her fragile, tiny body.

Her loud screams were muffled by the sheets, drying her aching throat and parched lips as though stray leaves under a scorching sun. It was not as if anyone would have heard her cries that must have been stifled by a vast swathe of cultivated land and thick forest; they died miserably against the wails of strong winds. There was just no solace for her, and the thought hit her hard.

It pained and angered Hinata. This man, his family, and even her own kith and kin, had taken everything from her. She would not see herself break anymore. She would not tell him anything; and with that small glimmer of courage left in her, she bit back Sasuke's name she was about to whisper. She cried out ' _Byakugan_ ' between the screams and, with a quick whisk of her free hand, tried to hit one of Naruto's main chakra points.

Naruto let out an angry growl and jerked Hinata's arm. She went sprawling down and fell face-first on the wooden floor. She tried to stand up, but her left hand pained her entire left half. So she feebly moved her arms and legs in vain to stand up. She looked like a fish that wriggled weakly to make it to the water to save its life.

"Are you running, Hinata? You won't tell me?" Naruto asked with a smile in his frightening voice.

He hopped off the bed and slammed his foot down on her ankle. Hinata groaned in pain and kicked him with the other leg. She planted her foot into his stomach. Naruto staggered back a little, but before he could recover, she quickly rolled onto her back and hit the core chakra-point in his stomach. The snarl contorting his features hideously, disappeared. He stood erect, and his head bobbed like a marionette's in a children's puppet-show.

Naruto grabbed his own head, and his grip tightened in his blond hair. Thin lines of blood appeared under his nostrils. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he let out a loud scream that made every bone in Hinata's body vibrate.

"Leave . . . me . . . get . . . out . . . " he grunted incoherently, his voice shaking as the aura overwhelmed his mind and body. Then he reeled off more gibberish she could not understand.

Naruto spun around and hit his head against the wall. He smashed his forehead repeatedly into the wall till the skin there cracked and started to bleed. Then he lurched sideways, breathing heavily, stretching out his arm to touch Hinata who shrunk away from his touch. He looked lost as he fumbled for something in the dark. It was almost pitiful to watch him search in the empty space around him.

Suddenly, he charged at the window and jumped out and disappeared behind the tall grass. Hinata did not force herself to look outside. Her whole body was battered and bruised. Her arm was badly burnt. She did not even have the strength to gather herself up into a sitting position. Rusty smell of her blood permeated the air, overpowered by the stench of her burnt flesh. It made her sick . . .

She heard the last faint sounds of the owl outside before she lost consciousness . . . lying alone in the house as Naruto's madness drove him deeper into the forest to fight his daemons.

Naruto prowled like a creature of the night in the forest, sniffing and whiffing the scents the trees exuded. He was out to hunt—a predator in search of a lost prey at night. His body hurtled itself to the right, and he smashed his head against the bark. The thick skin on his forehead broke open and blood sputtered out of the new wound.

Naruto hissed between clenched teeth, his flesh sizzling and closing up in the fraction of a second. He rammed his head into the tree again and again and again . . . till his entire forehead was red. (Blood flowed down the side of his face in a cascade.) Warm trickles of it crept into his eyes and made a film over his sharp gaze; he stumbled back.

"Let me go," he said hoarsely and struggled with feeble attempts to stay in control.

His legs gave way and he slumped down to his knees. His body gave itself over to the fit of convulsions. He trembled all over and dug his nails into the sodden ground—his fingers caked with dirt. The wounds kept closing up, but the pain in his head throbbed, intensifying. He felt the blistering hot chakra spread under his muscles, roiling and moving up to creep over his skin.

Naruto fell forward and pressed his face into the muddy ground. He screamed out as the chakra bubbled up, flaking off his skin, creating a thick film over his entire body. He thought he was going to die! He did not know where he was as he howled in pain—all alone in the darkness of the night. Blood rose up from his fresh wounds and got trapped under the thick mantle. It was a ghastly show . . . only there was no audience for it this time!

Naruto crawled across the muddy ground, his trousers getting frayed at the knees. He looked from side to side as the skin around the corner of his eyes chipped off. He shrieked and the pain overwhelmed him and pierced his body. He felt pinned down by a thousand hot knives—sacrificed under the torrid sun; but there was no escaping his invisible tormentor.

Naruto slammed his back against the tree and looked around, frantic, as if someone was chasing him. "Where are you?" he screamed, his voice hard and raw, "leave me alone."

"How you romp and yelp like a little whelp," the voice echoed in the dark forest. "I can't leave you alone, you little bastard. I'm tied to you. Don't you see? You can't run away from me. Run run little doggie—run run—" The harsh voice laughed, and Naruto jumped and scrambled to his feet.

But he fell forward again and quickly gathered himself up to sit straight. His backbone wriggled and pushed the muscles forward that held it securely in place. He let out a loud scream, feeling every fibre in his body getting torn apart by something he could not even see. He felt rage rise up in torrents from inside him. He was angry. There was no one who understood and cared for him. They all abandoned him—left him to rot.

The more these thoughts poured out, the more vulnerable he felt. The chakra kept pouring out, leaking from the wounds and spreading grotesquely over his entire body. He did not need anyone; he only needed this thing growing and germinating inside him. He agreed with himself and slumped against a tree to let it take over him whilst he continued to emit hoarse cries in pain. He felt like a child—punished brutally for a mistake he never committed.

"S-Sasuke—" he said in a dry voice and sniffed the scent of his chakra drawing near. In a second, Sasuke landed close to him, his eyes glowing red, taming the wild beast raging inside of him.

"Naruto," Sasuke said in a soft voice and gazed upon Naruto's miserable condition as he fell face-down on the grass, writhing in pain, scratching off the skin from his face with his claws. "Calm down. Come with me." He extended his hand to him and took a few steps forward; Naruto sat upright with lightning fast speed.

Naruto's nails, still stuck deep in his face, did not seem to bother him anymore. He let out a warm, acidic breath that turned the white flowers quivering in the dry grass to ash. He crouched, sat still, and locked his demonic eyes with the Sharingan that glowed on Sasuke's face.

"You'll just lock me up," Naruto said in a voice that vibrated deep inside his throat, "you're a terrible, mean bastard, Sasuke."

"You really don't want me to do that, do you?" Sasuke asked and shoved his hands into his pockets in a manner as though this was a business arrangement. He stood close to Naruto and looked down at him as he created a hideous smile; he watched the skin around Naruto's lips crack in an ugly manner that left nothing but exposed flesh behind. He was miserable and lost—Sasuke pitied him. He was his friend, and even though he hated to admit it, but somewhere in that small corner of his mind, he knew he loved and cared for him.

"Sasuke, h-help me," Naruto's voice wobbled in such fear, "something is after me. It will get me. It wants to kill me." He shrunk away from Sasuke and hid his face in his hands as he cried. The tears humiliated him . . .

He peered at Sasuke from between his reddened fingers and felt something recede back into the maw of insanity that lay dormant inside him. The red in Sasuke's eyes disciplined it, threw it back that, when his skin healed, he felt relieved as if the burdens of his spirit were lightened forever.

Freed of the sensations, Naruto stood up and took one step before he lost his energy. Sasuke quickly grabbed him when he fell forward and hugged him to keep him from falling. "Sasuke . . . " he whispered in his ear, " . . . everyone has abandoned me. I don't have anyone but you now. They all left me to rot. They all—" And he lost consciousness, breathing softly like an exhausted child against his throat.

Sasuke stood quietly for a few fleeting seconds, holding Naruto and looking up. He reached down and hooked his arm underneath Naruto's knees and picked him up. He looked down with remorse on his face. Naruto had healed all of his injuries, but his torment was not over. If this continued to happen, he would let loose the tempest of his anger and desire . . . and die.

He would not let that happen. He did not know why this was happening, but someone was using Naruto to stir up trouble. He would find out. It had happened before, and that time, he lost so many of his kith and kin; but back then he was just a child, unaware of the darkness that lay behind the Will of Fire. He was old and wise now—wise beyond his years.

Sasuke turned his eyes and gazed at the crow sitting behind the branches of an old tree. It cawed loudly and grated its coarse beak against the bark. Sasuke leant his head down and smiled behind the soft cover of darkness.

"Nothing misses you, does it?" he said in a low voice and jumped up.

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Hinata woke up when the sun-rays burnt on her skin. She opened her eyes—Sasuke's face greeted her. He looked beautiful, his white skin touched so tenderly by the morning sun! A smile ghosted over his chiselled lips as he cupped his chin, looking at Hinata with mischievous eyes that always made him look so desirable.

"Had a little kitchen accident?" he asked and pressed his index finger playfully on the tip of her nose. "I'm glad I found you. You could've bled to death."

Memories of last night came rushing back. It felt unreal. Did Naruto really do that to her? She did not know what kind of man she shared a bed with—on the nights he did bother himself to sleep beside her anyway. She did not have the courage to tell Sasuke. He would never believe her. What would she tell him? That Naruto was taken over by a daemon . . . and that he hurt her? It was a nightmare, a bad and vivid dream that made her feel ashamed.

"I—" she stopped, avoiding his eyes, "I don't remember." She closed her eyes and placed her hands on her breast. Her hands did not hurt much, but the pain she felt in showing her vulnerability before Naruto last night was something she would never be able to recover from.

Sasuke narrowed his eyes and tried to see beyond the little mask she wore today. She was lying. He knew! But it was all well and good if she decided to keep this to herself. He would handle Naruto, but if she came out screaming that Naruto was not normal but something unreal, it would make things too difficult for him—even Naruto.

He had a small amount of pity to spare for her. He would not lie. It was an honest thought, but it had to be done. "You should get some rest," he said, watching as her eyes flew open in panic. He watched every tiny nuance of her features that were drenched in mortal fear. She gave the impression of a helpless rabbit caught in a trap—the way she usually did when he took her to bed; and if she had not been bruised so badly, it might even have stirred his loins.

Sasuke smiled to himself, loving the amusement that private joke provided. He started to get up when Hinata grabbed his arm; her fingers trembled helplessly. Her eyes ran around the room, darting frantically from corner to corner as if someone was hiding, waiting for Sasuke to leave.

"You—y-you're leaving?" she asked in a voice that did not seem tamed by her tongue. Naruto could come back. He could kill her. She just needed some time to recover, and then she would ask Neji to let her stay with him for a few days. Just a few more days and she would be free . . . she would never tell anyone that Naruto humiliated her in this manner. She would kill herself before the world found out that the man who abandoned her, raised his hand against her as well, leaving her broken and disgraced. It was a secret she would carry to her grave. She would not give him the satisfaction.

"I can't stay here. You know I have duties these days, don't you?" he said almost lovingly and smoothed her hair away from her damp cheeks. She was hot and tired. "I'll leave Yuu here. If you need anything, you can call for me."

"B-But—" Hinata protested weakly and bit back the truth about Naruto. Her body yearned for a sanctuary where it could just hide and heal for a few more days. She had the courage to accept this mortal weakness today. _Live and fight another day_ . . . that was what she thought, and that was what she would do today!

Sasuke's eyes coolly appraised her face. He had her hand clutched in his. It would be better if she did not stay here. If someone came running from Root to ask for her, they would know. He did not want them to find out that he knew someone was pulling Naruto's strings.

"You don't want to stay here?" he asked in a soft tone as if he was talking to a wee girl.

Hinata shook her head a little, breathing loudly. Her fever was spiking. Sasuke placed his palm on her forehead. She was burning and not from lust this time. "All right." He looked at the door and called out to Yuu. Within a moment, Yuu came running into the room. He bowed and nervously looked at Sasuke.

"Call a few men from the manor and take her to the guest room," Sasuke ordered and stood up.

"But, Sasuke-Sama, she is Naruto's wife. You can't—"

"That's none of your concern," he rasped in mild anger, his eyes glowing as he held Hinata's frail hand in his. "Why do you ask for reasons when they don't concern you?"

Yuu flinched at his harsh tone. "Please, forgive me, but Itachi-Sama has not left for his mission yet," he said in a tiny voice and lowered his eyes.

"Nii-Sama is still home?" he asked and clenched his jaws.

"Yes, his mission was delayed. He would leave late at night," he explained.

Sasuke heaved a sigh, and his eyes turned back to normal. "Take her to the Uchiha Infirmary for now and shift her to one of the guest rooms later. Make sure no one knows she was here. If anyone asks, tell them I sent her on a mission with one of my men," he said in a cool, measured voice. He looked back to Hinata who was barely conscious and placed her hand on her bosom.

"Get it done," he said and left the room. Hinata's eyes could not follow him anymore. She felt so weak, and after taking a few heavy breaths, she fell unconscious.

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There was a mantle of silence over the room as Itachi stared into Sasuke's eyes and weighed his brother's secrets. Despite Sasuke's efforts, his brother found out about Hinata; but, thankfully, he was not angry.

"Why did you bring her here? That was not very wise. What if the Hyūga clan finds out? This would humiliate you as well," Itachi spoke calmly and rolled up the scroll. The matters in the Intelligence-Division seemed to be piling up.

"No one will find out. She wanted to come here. It's not as if I forced this decision upon her," Sasuke said and looked from his brother's eyes to a faint smile on his lips—he was very slightly amused.

"Just the way you indulged her twice?" he asked suddenly and watched with a glint in his eyes as Sasuke's face burnt red with shame. "I am sure that was with her consent, too. But just because she is being so foolish, you should not stop to entertain her every whim."

Sasuke was silent. He lowered his head, feeling humiliated that he was being interrogated for his amorous escapades with the married Hyūga girl.

Itachi placed the scroll aside and rested his hands on his thighs. "Sasuke, do not use her to start something against Hiashi. She is an unreliable girl. She does not possess the strength to go against her father. She was already too weak to keep herself from giving into her desires. She is undisciplined, unfaithful, and . . . _undependable_ ," Itachi said by stressing on the last word.

"What do you mean?" Sasuke asked and gulped dryly—his Adam's apple quivered.

"You know what I mean," he said and locked his bewitching eyes with his. "Hiashi will not relinquish any information about that night. Let this go."

"I'm not—"

"Why must you waste your youth on such matters?" Itachi cut him off, looking calm. "Why must you always test me?"

Sasuke looked up, and he felt snared by those too-knowing eyes. "Do you intend to abandon me if I go too far, Nii-Sama," he asked, and he was smiling and there was a touch of anger, bitterness in his smile—he was challenging him.

Itachi considered him for a moment with an air of calm. It was always impossible to tell what he was thinking. "You already know the answer. Why ask me this every time?" he said in a cool voice, and the expression on Sasuke's face softened. "This matter runs deep. Do you really want to keep digging till you find something that may mortify you?"

When Sasuke did not say anything, he spoke again, "send her off to her home tomorrow. I do not want her around when I return. Do you understand me, Sasuke?"

Sasuke stood up silently and bowed before him. When he left the room, Itachi wondered, what did he hope to find by digging into the past? Did he find something in Mist? Outside, there was a birth of the new and frightening storm . . .

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 **EN** : Demon and Daemon have slightly different meanings, but daemon has been utilized as an alternative spelling of demon; furthermore, the concept of 'Demon', as it's in the orthodox religions, doesn't exist in Japanese folklore; therefore, I thought 'Daemon' to be the right choice for this fiction.

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	14. The Innocent Daemon

**Chapter Fourteen** : The Innocent Daemon

 **AN** : _**Omamori**_ are Japanese amulets that provide luck and good fortune.

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He had exculpated himself from his own unintentional, forgotten sins for he was an innocent. The visceral rhythms of his soul vacillated between sin and innocence, ashes and lust, life and worms . . . what had he truly become? Yet, it festered, slumbering deep within but growing ever so slowly, crawling over his soul, and leaving a trail of small and ugly black blots that would, in time, become bigger and deeper, cutting up his empyreal substance to bits.

He resented himself and he did not know why. The water before his knees was still like a murky mirror. His eyes, crystal blue, did not seem to belie his pitiful state of confusion. He curled his lips back over the white teeth and watched as his own image in water mimicked the features with natural perfection. A drop of blood from his dry lips fell down and created a single ripple. The reddish hue disappeared in the water that must have been vast for its tiny existence.

When the water stilled, the surface became clear again. His lips trembled as he looked down at the man burdened by Time. He felt it on his back and it drooped under its weight; he had grown decrepit before his own time.

At his back, he could hear that eerie Death-cum-Time custodian of heaven . . . heaven? Would he ever taste the cool drafts of its promised immortality? No, hell was a place reserved for him—that deep pit that was forlorn and destitute of the repose he sought. He would be left alone there to rot for yet another eternity. For this life and its fetters did not seem to hold his desire for peace sway. It left him over and over again, brought back the zest for its mortal taste that was so fleeting and surreal to him, and a reminder that it was all but a dream of a boy in the past years of boyhood.

A sob burnt his throat, but he satisfied his sadness by biting his lip fiercely, letting it bleed in a comedic sacrifice, thinking that it would overpower the emotion that rose inside him with a mighty force: uncontrolled, unfettered, untamed. A whimper finally forced itself out of his mouth, yet it shook him so fiercely that his whole body trembled with the coming shame that would not let him hide.

It overcame him, his vision blurred by the. Yes, he felt shame. He bowed his head and looked deep into his own eyes through the haze. He could not see his face anymore—it had become a mystery to him. He had become nothing but a mystery to himself, for he could not remember how he got here.

He could not remember his days or his nights that tempted him like a warm seductress to remember their gentle caresses; he had grown weary of her touch, perhaps. After all, it was not as though she was ever kind to him. He whimpered pitifully now and leant further down till the veins bulged out in his neck from exertion.

His lips touched the surface of water, and before he could even think of his pride, he let his thirsty tongue leave the soft trap of his lips to taste it. It was cool and stagnant. He could not even taste the dirt he swallowed down with it. His lashes touched the water that claimed his tears like a selfless mother. He wanted to drown inside . . . the shame was too much to bear.

"Naruto, stop," Sasuke said, sitting under the heavy drape of shadows. He moved his hand and tapped Naruto's shoulder. He shuddered under his touch, like a beaten down animal.

Naruto craned his neck, his eyes red from the tears he just shed. His swollen lip did not heal the way it should have. The misery on his face was made more picturesque by the countless tear lines on his dry features. He twisted his left arm and heard the loud clank of chains that tethered him like an undisciplined dog to the wall. His fingers twitched, but he did not fight it this time.

He curled his fingers firmly around the cold chain that held his freedom. It was a judgment placed upon him: a forgetful prisoner. Why was he here? "Sasuke—" he asked pitifully and let out a harsh sound with a gob of spit that sluggishly trailed down and then firmly clung to his chin, "wh-why am I here? Why wouldn't you let me go?"

Sasuke leant forward and wiped the spit from under Naruto's chin and then brushed his hand on his own clean pants. It left a whitish stain there, but that did not concern him. He felt nothing but pity for him. What would he tell him? "You ran off into the night from your home. You don't remember?" Sasuke asked and bent his gaze on Naruto and watched as the thing inside Naruto made him recoil from Sasuke's tall shadow.

Naruto looked around absentmindedly and tried to recall the fragments of that night's memory from within the chaotic blackness that sat upon the face of his past. His eyes betrayed the confusion in him. He tried and tried but nothing came to his mind. He remembered going to the academy, and after that, he could remember nothing.

The gossamer beauty of the intricately woven _omamori_ , which always shook in the evening wind, truly failed him. Kushina had made it for him when he got married. What bad fortunes did it halt? It was meant to hold his happiness, but even the incubus that climbed his bed, a terrible omen, did not get caught between its threads. He could have found solace in the fact that he, at least, dreamt—like all people! It was just a useless gift: one of the many his mother had thrown his way over the past few years.

He could not believe himself when a feeling of such hatred for her came over his heart. But it was all right. His mother and father . . . no, no one could see inside him to truly tell how he felt. It was not as though they could tear open his breast and look inside his heart. Those mysteries were his to relish and bear—the gift of solace in the realm of his heart.

Naruto closed his eyes and let out a peaceful sigh. The character of his features was soft with the calm that resonated inside him. He had found a momentary peace in the thought that he still had his heart to himself . . . and his friend, his brother, Sasuke. He opened his blue eyes and peered deep into the red that comforted him today.

He would lie to himself if he did not find Sasuke's eyes frightening sometimes, but not today; today was his day to drown in the blood of his eyes and find peace in the martyrdom that awaited him right at their deepest depths. He would sink down to the bloody depths of them, but he would be happy. "No," he said calmly this time and felt a slight tremor creep into his voice from weakness.

The last light of the evening shone on the roof above him before today's sun's death. Sasuke looked up as if the light disturbed the deep shadows that stood around him. He brought his eyes down and held his hard gaze. He breathed out softly and got to his feet. "Try to recall the night before. Where were you the previous night?"

Naruto looked up as Sasuke stood over him and looked down at him as if he had done something horrible. "Why are you . . . ? I do . . . " his voice trailed off. He could not remember anything. The thought shattered the frail peace of his mind he thought was going to hold a while longer. "I-I don't remember." He leant his head down and began to look at himself again as though that would give him the answers he sought.

"And the night before?" Sasuke asked and took out a dagger from the small leather sheath. He moved its tip underneath Naruto's bloodied shirt's neckline and tore it from the back to expose his skin. He had reddish freckles dotting the area around his neck and shoulders, but the rest of his back was clear and slick with sweat. He had been feverish the whole time!

Sasuke moved his torn shirt over the sweat to wipe clean the area around his spine. "Do you remember anything else?" he asked kindly and ran the sharp end of his dagger under his fore and middle fingers, wounding them. Blood oozed out of his wounds and fell on Naruto's back.

"I don't remember anything," Naruto spoke in sadness, not feeling anything on his back—the chase he gave to his scrambled thoughts had limited his senses.

Sasuke sat down and moved his cut fingers on Naruto's back. He quickly made small symbols along Naruto's spine to create a Fuin-Jutsu seal on him that he had learnt from Karin. It was passed down only to her family; even Kushina would not know anything about it. When he completed the seal, he saw Naruto's spine tremble in a ghastly manner under the tip of his bloodied fingers.

Naruto winced from pain and gripped the chains harder that bound both his arms to the wall. But the pain ended quickly, quietly retreating back to from whence it came. His grip slackened, and he uncurled his fingers and felt a burning sensation from the metal that abraded his wrists from the struggle. He exhaled loudly as if a burden had been lifted from his mind and raised his eyes to look up when Sasuke got to his feet.

"Don't leave the manor unless I say so," Sasuke said in a firm voice and unlocked the chains. They clanked to the ground. Naruto felt freer than he had ever before. Feeling the sweetness of freedom, he hastily got to his feet only to succumb to his weakness. He fell forward but Sasuke grabbed him. "Relax, you're still feverish."

"You didn't have to tie me up like that. I would never attack you. You know that!" Naruto said, sounding tired.

"You don't even trust your memories. Was it really wise to leave you to your own devices?" Sasuke asked but no reply came from Naruto. Sasuke curled his arm around Naruto's waist and then placed his limp arm over his own shoulder. Naruto weighed lighter than last time. He did not know what to think about this. He brushed it aside and opened the door to get out of the suffocating cell.

Sasuke walked silently through the corridors of the small prison in the Uchiha manor. He was just dragging Naruto; he could barely move his feet. Quietly, he mounted the stairs and walked through the small garden and listened to Naruto puff and blow close to his ear. "Almost there," he assured him and opened a sturdy looking door to a beautiful room.

Naruto's tired eyes took comfort inside the walls of the luxurious room. He was so happy to finally get out of the cell where Sasuke sat with him for ten straight hours. Sasuke gave the door a slight push with his foot, and it closed behind him. "Drink that," he said and nodded towards a bowl full of green-ish liquid. He loosened his grip and Naruto fell back on the bed.

"What's that?" Naruto asked, sat up, and picked up the bowl. Then he smelt it and made an awful face.

"It's a medicine mixed with the necessary nutrients. Take it. It'll ease your fever, and hopefully, put you to sleep," he said, watching as Naruto frowned childishly.

"Your hospitality stinks!" he said and drank all of it at a draught.

"Just shut up and go to sleep." Sasuke snatched the bowl from Naruto's hand, as if he was a little unruly child who would break it, and placed it on the table again. "You need rest. I'll lock the door from outside, so no use banging on the walls like the idiot that you are."

"Do you want me to die in here?" Naruto asked incredulously as if killing him was actually a prospect. "I haven't eaten anything since Sage knows when. I feel this— _thing_ in my stomach."

"What? Gas?" Sasuke shot back, getting a little irritated.

"You asshole! You've got no heart. Sometimes, I feel like you're this soulless armour-decoration with such _ridiculous_ good looks. Take away your looks, your money, and those little fancy coins you keep, what's left? I wonder what all the women see in you!" he said loudly and pulled the sheets over himself and shook them vehemently as if the debate was won.

"Are you done?" Sasuke asked and folded his arms.

"Yes, I'm done," Naruto returned and made a scholarly face.

"Good, because you sound like someone's bickering wife who is on the verge of taking that one-way trip out of the house—for good," Sasuke replied and walked out of the room, not sticking around to listen to Naruto's uncultured insults he started reeling off after "yeah, your wife, you asshole!" At least, he was himself again—even if it was irritating.

# # # # # #

Fire was hot in the hearth and the room, warm. Hinata shuddered when a loud sound woke her up. She closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds of rain drumming on the roof. Slowly, she opened her eyes and raised her arms. Her burnt arm was not hurting anymore; it was swathed in fresh bandages. Yuu must have changed them again.

Hinata had slept through the whole day and had not seen Sasuke in her few moments of consciousness. Lost in thought, she touched the bandage and tried to pull it away to look at her skin. "Don't do that," came Sasuke's voice from behind the dull shadows in the room.

She jerked her head in that direction and found Sasuke sitting on the chair with an office scroll in his hand. "If you remove it, it'll start to itch and hurt again. Then you will complain in your sleep. And it might even leave a mark. I'm sure you wouldn't want that?" Sasuke asked in a manner as though the whole thing was so obvious to her.

"I-I was just—" she began absentmindedly, watching Sasuke as he placed the scroll on the table and walked up to her bed, "I wanted to look." Her eyes did not leave Sasuke's face as he sat down on the bed and grabbed her arm.

He turned it a little. "Does it hurt?" he asked and brushed his finger on the bandage. Hinata shook her head slightly and ran her eyes over the bandage, and then looked from Sasuke's hand to his face. He looked exhausted. His brow was marked with thin frown lines—something was bothering him.

He turned her arm again—gently this time. When he got no reaction from her, he let her pull it back. "It should be fully healed by tomorrow," he said and ran his fingers across the delicate seams of the sheets without any reason. "I will ask Neji to stay with you in your home after you recover—if being alone still scares you. You still don't want to tell me what happened?"

"I d-don't remember," she lied again and narrowed her lying eyes away. Sasuke saw through her untruthfulness, but he chose not to make her realize it. It was in his interests, after all. He wanted to see how far she would bury this inside herself—how long she would keep this little act up. Her lies were poor. It was a game best left to the professionals, but so far, he was quite impressed with her persistence.

"If you say so," he said and hid a smile as he turned his head away and pretended to be distracted by the rain.

Hinata put her hand on his, grabbing his attention. "But I-I'm telling you the truth. You don't believe me?" she asked as her hand trembled over his. There was desperation in her voice. She tried to mask it, but it was easy for him to sniff it out.

"I didn't say you were lying," he stopped and narrowed his eyes on her, "I know you're a terrible liar. It just depends on how well you lie. The rest is your business. Your concern. The better you hide your lies, the more successful your life will be. If you want to leave Konoha, that is. Am I not right, Hinata?" He still wore that sly smile on his face that was nearly impassive save for that ghostly emotion scurrying across his features.

"W-What?" Hinata barely managed, taken aback by his honesty. How true he was. A shocked expression froze on her white face, and her fingers dug into the skin of his hand. Sasuke's meaningful gaze did not flit from her face to his hand. He held it, overpowering the weak strength of her gaze with his own; it conquered it quickly and made her eyes lose the intensity of her emotions till they blinked and gladly admitted defeat.

Hinata lowered her eyes and gazed at the white skin of her bosom. A few drops of sweat had burst from her pores. They were cool on her skin, nothing but reminders of her fear. For a few moments, they remained silent. The rain outside harshly pressed against the wooden walls and filled the whole room with many sounds from outside; but they were still dull and weak, unable to fully make it through the walls to disturb her thoughts.

"You seem ashamed. I don't know what's there to be ashamed of. You want freedom. I can understand that. Where is the harm is that?" Sasuke asked in a voice that exhorted her to give him a true answer, and she played right into his hands.

Hinata raised her eyes and tried hard not to expose herself completely before him. She had willingly ruined a part of her honour by being intimate with him—he did not need to know everything. _But how much would I be able to hide?_ she thought as she saw her unmasked face in Sasuke's clear eyes. "I don't want to talk about it," she said after a long and thoughtful intake of breath.

"A'right," he said in a breathy voice, knowing that his suspicions about her were true. He was satisfied with her answer for now. With so little, she told him so much. "You don't want to talk. It's your personal life. But I'm glad, because if you keep lying like this, you might actually make it." He smiled and leant down to brush his lips against hers.

Blood rushed to Hinata's face when she felt Sasuke's tongue slip into her mouth. She did not protest, because after her painful ordeal, this felt tender and sweet. She wanted to make love to him again, even if it was after a lie—a lie she could not hide behind her honesty. She moved her arm and buried her hand in his hair, pulling him close till his skin touched hers, setting it deliciously on fire.

He pulled back and turned his head away. She thought he would lean back down, but he stood up suddenly and walked away. He stood before the door and spoke without turning around: "you wouldn't need anything, but my room is at the end of the corridor. I would recommend that you use that bell instead. I'm quite tired today." Then he walked out of the room and left her desire burning.

Hinata's lower lip trembled. It ached between her legs. She did not think he would tease and taunt her like this today—today of all the days when she actually needed him to soothe her pain. "It isn't fair," she whispered to herself and trembled with a burning shame of need. She breathed loudly and looked up to the ceiling and parted her lips to say the same words all over again: "it isn't fair!"

She was being obdurate, but she did not care. How easy it was for them to feel pleasure when they needed it. She grunted loudly and sensed her desire bother her entire body. Slowly, she snaked her fingers down and brushed them gently on her stomach. Then she slipped them under the smooth fabric of the underwear and felt her fingers get tangled in the mass of black curls. She did not stop and moved them between her lips and touched the engorged bud that did not hide her own arousal from herself.

Hinata's eyes trembled and twitched as she felt that familiar rhythm of pleasure invade her body like a mad tormentor. It was strange, and when she moved her finger around her entrance, her desire for him came rushing back. It was as though he was the only thing familiar to her flesh now. She could not even elicit pleasure out of her own body without his thoughts racing through her mind and the fleeting fires from his touch coursing through her veins.

Hinata did not stop—she could not. She slipped a finger inside and sensed her body respond to her own inexperienced touch, fooled that it was that familiar lover who had come back to play again! She arched her back and moved her warm finger slowly and steadily at a pace that always delighted her. Her lips parted in a needy moan, red and swollen with a heady pleasure that was probably the next best thing for her . . . and her body.

The delightful scent of her arousal went in vapours up his nostrils. His keen ears stood up and wriggled when her heavy breaths could not be overpowered by the harsh rain. They were too keen for these little distractions. Its head rose in him just like a stubborn little snake, rousing with her moans and her strong scent. It goaded him on again, and that same hatred came back with full force.

Naruto's eyes opened on their own as if a clock chimed right next to him—that beckoned him for his morning rituals. His face trembled, and he kept blinking his eyes without a reason, already feeling lost amidst the heavy blackness that had settled itself firmly upon his mind. He was lost again, and the only desire that crawled up to his lips as a breathy sigh was that hatred: "I hate you . . . "

He rose from his bed, falling down on his knees but getting back up the next second. His back burnt as the daemon inside him could not make it completely past the powerful barrier. So it itched and ached deep underneath his spine, a nasty flowing burn; but it found his eyes and glowed like an eerie menace through them. The more she sighed, the more restless he got till he could not quite contain it. He launched himself at the door and slammed his fists against it as many times as it took to break it apart. He ran outside into the open, guided by her sounds and scents.

The loud noise of the heavy door being broken to pieces did not carry itself over to anyone, not even Sasuke, who slept peacefully in his bed, exhausted from the day's ordeal. The rain drowned out Hinata's moans and Naruto's grunts as he stood under the heavy downpour, looking at her please herself without any shame. She could not even hear herself when thunder roared, opening her jaws wide to let out a loud, heated sigh, but he could—so clearly that it felt as if this spectacle was created _just_ to taunt and humiliate him.

She turned her head and blinked in her moment of passion; she found darkness in the room as the flames in the hearth had burnt themselves out. Even the flame on the wick inside the lantern was out, leaving a thin line of smoke rising upwards into the darkness. She grabbed the sheets when her eyes saw two reds glowing beyond the grey smoke. The window was too tiny for any person to enter: Sasuke chose this room for her own safety.

Then Hinata saw a hand make its way in, the same hand that was cruel to her that day, and she found herself running out of the room. She turned the corner and ran towards the room at the far end of the corridor. Naruto was here, and this time, he would kill her! She could not fight him last time, and she did not expect anything miraculous from herself this time. So, she ran, looking behind as though the man had somehow moved through the walls and was chasing her down through the misty corridors of the manor now.

Light shone through the wooden bars in the corridor as lightning flashed in the sky, but that did not halt her steps. She stopped close to Sasuke's door but did not knock. She slid it open and thanked her lucky stars that he had not locked his door. The inside was warm, and the fire in the hearth there was not as cruel here as it was to her in the other room. The whole room glowed with a beautiful orange light that pushed back the night's shadows into nooks and corners. There they loomed, standing tall behind the cupboard and futon.

Gently, Hinata closed the door behind her as her eyes found Sasuke sleeping peacefully. It was strange for the keen ninja to be so helpless in his sleep. His face bore the signs of his calm as he slept without a care—not worried about what monster lay in wait beyond his door. She kept standing still, not knowing what to do. She moved her lips but nothing came out—fear had stolen her voice.

She took a few steps and gazed around in fear. Then she leant down and fearfully climbed into his futon, stealing glances at the closed door. She stretched her hand and moved her fingers to touch his face to wake him up. She had not quite touched the stray tips of the hair when Sasuke threw her onto her back and grabbed her by the throat, with his dagger's tip digging into her skin. He had that fierce, resolute look on his face, and his eyes burnt with a need to take a life.

He breathed heavily and suddenly that look disappeared from his sweaty face. His grip slackened, and he pulled his hand back. Hinata drew in a loud breath and sensed her heart beat at the right pace again. He shoved the dagger back into his pocket and backed away, looking livid. "Are you crazy?" he hissed and bent forward to meet her gaze. "I could've killed you! I told you to knock, didn't I? Don't you pay attention, Hinata?"

Hinata curled her fingers around her throat and coughed. "I . . . I-I was—" she fumbled with words, unable to give voice to her thoughts.

Sasuke rubbed his temple, annoyed by her foray into his room. "Why are you here?" he asked and moved back to rest his back against the wall. He looked irritated by her audacity; never had any woman had the privilege to sit on his futon. If he wanted lovers, he indulged them in the guestrooms. This was his own private place. No one was allowed here other than his beloved brother and a few servants.

"I-I saw—" Hinata's voice trembled as she struggled to sit upright.

"Are you going to say something, or will my whole night be wasted by your half-completed—"

"I saw someone outside my window," she cut him off and pointed a trembling finger at his door as if he could actually see beyond it without his Sharingan, "out in the rain—next to my window. Big, r-red eyes. I didn't know what to do, so I came here." She hugged herself and bowed her head to hide her tear-filled eyes.

Sasuke's Sharingan turned on automatically. _This is bad_ , he thought, not sharing his secret with Hinata. He grabbed his sword that was propped against his side-table and got out of the futon. "Stay here and don't come out. You understand me?" he said with a heavy accent, looking back at her.

Hinata moved on the futon and twisted her back a little to look at him. She wanted to stop him, but she knew that only the Sharingan was known to tame the wildest of beasts. She crawled back and pulled the sheets over herself when she heard Sasuke lock the door from outside. She pulled them up as if they might hide her from Naruto and his wrath. (It was an innocent reaction!)

Sasuke used Body-Flicker to reach the door before his heart could fully beat once. He stopped, turned his eyes around, and swept his gaze wide. He could see no aura. Yuu was standing by the door, his face enveloped by a thin film of water and fear. "Sasuke-Sama, he's—" he broke off, not knowing how to explain this.

Sasuke's lip twitched and a look of murderous rage flashed into his eyes, but he did not say anything. He turned around and walked out of the narrow corridor. He stood still and tried to pick up any sound, any trace of Naruto, but he was gone; he had disappeared into the arms of night. He stepped out into the rain, letting it lash his face and bare torso. "I need Karin on my team," he whispered to himself, and the tasteless rainwater slipped into his mouth. He gulped it down and looked around with an overbearing sense of futility to find something when he knew that Naruto was lost for the night.

He stood there quietly for several seconds and then finally spoke, "clean up that mess. Nii-Sama will be angry with me if he found out. I don't want it around in the morning." Then he left Yuu standing under the rain.

When he unlocked the door and stepped back into the room, he found Hinata sitting behind a wall of sheets, with just her eyes visible above her hands. She lowered them when she saw Sasuke lock the door from inside. "You had a bad dream. There was nothing outside," he said in a calm voice and walked to the futon. He placed his sword next to the side table and climbed into his futon again, not caring that his pants were still wet.

"But I—" she stopped, not sure whether she really did see Naruto or was it just a figment of her imagination.

"You know what, Hinata, I'm too exhausted to pander to your foolish whims at this hour of the night. Just sleep here for the night. Happy?" he said in a harsh, cutting voice and pulled the sheets over himself.

Hinata was too relieved to say anything. She slowly rested her back on the futon and pulled at the sheets a little. Sasuke stirred slightly and then placed his arm on his forehead. It did not take him long to fall asleep. Hinata, too, closed her eyes, comforted by the fact that she was not alone at anyone's mercy tonight. The thought gave her peace and she fell asleep, dreaming something beautiful for the first time in five long years . . .

# # # # # #

Sakura was confused, her eyes surveying Naruto who was sopping wet, standing on her doorstep. "Naruto, you—" she began but stopped suddenly when Naruto let himself in. She did not say anything and closed the door behind him. The sky roared and rumbled and shook the windows a second later.

The lights in her apartment were out save for a few candles waning into a pool of wax on the shelves. It happened quite often when heavy rains hit Konoha. It was just a minor problem, but a problem nonetheless. It was a good thing that their village's security was compensated by a thick chakra barrier; otherwise, what would happen during complete blackouts? It was not that hard to guess.

Tsunade's reign was going smoothly. Problems had dwindled considerably ever since she took over after Hiruzen's death a couple of years ago. Maybe she would take this matter into consideration, but the Chūnin Exams' rules overhaul came first. The thoughts about swaying Tsunade were not on her mind—not now. Her emerald eyes deepened into two dark greens when the last candle in the room melted completely and cast a thick shadow over them.

She kept looking at Naruto whose back was turned to her. He was silent and breathed heavily beyond the near-impenetrable wall of greyness between them. "Do you need something to drink?" she asked and eased towards him slowly as if she would scare him off if she moved any faster.

When no reply came, she turned to face him and grabbed his face in her hands. "What's wrong?" she asked in the voice of a lover. "You look tired. You've been running again?" She skittered her hand through his messy hair, still not getting any response from him.

Naruto wheezed in response as if her words hurt his body and mind. He lifted his head and eyes, and an expression of brutish lust came into his countenance. There was a delightful curl of pleasure in his lips that made her shudder with a realization. He did not give her even a moment to talk him out of it this time and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and pushed her into the room that was so familiar to him.

Sakura staggered back and fell down on the floor; she sensed the aggression and force behind his movements. It was better to stay quiet and bear through this. So she raised herself to her feet when she saw Naruto approach her with slow deliberate steps; a hunger had came over his face like a heavy veil. He discarded his wet jacket, grabbed a fistful of Sakura's pink hair, and pulled her in to claim her lips in a rough kiss.

Naruto's teeth closed on her lower lip, bleeding it. There was no gentleness in his touch, but the heat that radiated from his body consumed the human part of her, and she gave herself over to his harsh caresses. It was not like Sasuke ever indulged her this way—it was such a painful thought in the heat of the moment. It was better to forget and pretend he was _him_. She did not protest when he grabbed her blouse and tore it apart and then reached down and did the same to her skirt and cotton underwear.

She stood naked in his arms, letting him paw her as he wished. He pushed her back on the bed and crushed her with his weight. His lips—that had abandoned the gentleness of previous nights—nipped at her delicate breasts and left red marks on her body. He broke her skin as he pulled at the soft skin of her taut stomach, his long canine teeth digging into her inner thighs, wrenching out sobs of pain and pleasure.

But it was all right—she would let him love her: it was what he wanted, and this was what she wanted him to do; and that was what she needed for this pretend-play. She could pretend it was _him_ who had come to play with her like this if she closed her eyes—it was _just_ a little game. She arched her back and pushed her genitals into his face when he lowered his face between her legs to sniff her scent. It delighted his daemons that she was always willing and ready for him—that she was selfless for him. Hinata was cruel, cold, and unkind. She pleasured herself for someone else!

He growled and licked the mucus that clung to her quivering slit. Yes, her body was always pliant under his touch: a touch Hinata rejected. He lifted his head and looked into her misty, murky-green eyes. They invited him to please himself and satisfy his building hunger. So he did. He pressed his body on top of hers and took her harshly, entering her over and over again with hard thrusts that made her cry out.

When her walls did not allow him to go deep enough, he flipped her over onto her knees and took her from behind. It pleased him how she struggled and moaned into the pillow, feeling pressure between her legs as he went in deep and hard, pushing her forward on the bed. Sakura clenched her fingers and moved her knees so wide apart till her child-like breasts got squashed against the mattress. She turned her head and peered through her sweaty hair that fell over her eyes, but she could not really see Naruto clearly beyond the mist that had come across her gaze.

His hands slipped on her sweaty back and felt the muscles under her lovely skin convulse with pleasure. It had been a few days since he last felt pleasure like this. It was not as though Hinata was ever willing to embrace and love him. How he had begun to loathe her fake innocence. The thing dominating inside him smiled at his thoughts, and he increased his pace, eliciting loud grunts out of her.

But Naruto was still not satisfied. He needed more—more pleasure, more lust, more warmth from her body. It was _still_ not enough to consume him and sate his passions. So he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her back onto his lap and pushed upwards. It felt amazing how he speared her completely in this manner, feeling the crushing depths of her walls—so warm and slick. These were the pleasures only Sakura could give him.

He placed his hand against her forehead and pulled her head back onto his shoulder; then he leant in to whisper in her ear as he slowed down his pace, "Sakura-Chan, you wouldn't hurt me, right?" he hissed, bit down on her shoulder, and held her head in place when she screamed and clenched her walls tighter and tighter.

At that moment, a thought crossed his mind: how much could she have squeezed him had he wrung her tiny throat in his hands? He smiled and kept up his pace and enjoyed her body to his heart's content.

The night had yet to give into morning's easy seductions when Sakura got up from her bed and stood before the mirror. Her genitals ached. She would have to use medicine this time to heal. Naruto was never this harsh to her before. She brushed her fingers on the small red marks on her breasts and a blue bruise on her shoulder. They would heal on their own, but she would never let Sasuke see them: they would be just another weapon for his mockery. The Medic, would-be lover in her scorned the idea to bear them like a Fuin-Jutsu seal.

She turned her eyes to Naruto sleeping on his stomach. He had spent himself today and left his seed inside her; it was just another chore, another thing to clean up before she left for the office. She walked out of the room and felt the chill of the morning wind on her body that had exhausted itself and spent its heat for today.

When Sakura looked out the window, the first ray of sunlight burst through the night and created a balmy hue in the sky. She sighed and lowered herself into the chair and opened the drawer. There it lay, the same white paper with the same black pen on it. She took it out and wrote down Naruto's behaviour; she deleted the important details of the night. That would never concern him. All he wanted to know was that how far his daemon had consumed him.

A layer of tears came across her eyes, and she stifled a sob that vibrated in her throat as she created the Root symbol given to her on the end of the page with her chakra. The tiny sparrow sitting in the cage on the table bounced happily, eager to see her. It was time for it to fly back to its sanctuary and feed. She opened the cage, took it out, and slipped the paper she had just rolled into the tiny container tied above its feet.

The bird struggled as Sakura approached the window; it knew how to find its home. She released it and it flew south. It would not be long before they knew how everything was coming along. When it flew away out of sight, she lost her will with it, too. "N-Naruto, I'm sorry," she whispered and sank down to the floor. Then she buried her face in her hands and cried . . .

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	15. Izanagi and Team Taka

**Chapter Fifteen** : Izanagi and Team Taka

 **AN** : This is my take on **Izanagi**. I'll explain this more in the coming chapters. Izanagi's canon **"results' cancellation (it's a Genjutsu—it doesn't 'turn back time' as some readers believe)"** ability has been modified as it would make Sasuke almost invincible and that isn't something I want in this fiction.

I've also modified **Susanoo** and **Amaterasu** quite a bit, so you'll know more about them in the coming chapters, as well. **Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan** Sasuke has been downgraded immensely to fit the local-logic of this fiction's universe. He's nowhere near as powerful (in my fiction) as he was in the canon manga.

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Whoever said that necessity was the mother of invention was quite off the mark and a fool. It had always been desperation, looming behind it, tall and menacing, the way a woman was behind the ill-fated sequences of men's lives. They may deny it, they may hide behind the veils of social ambiguity, but Sasuke knew—women proved to be necessary to quell his boredom when it stung him hard.

The last thing he wanted as an added distraction was another woman hounding him by day and dogging him by night. The mess he seemed to be in was piling up, and he was only sinking deeper—that deep plunge into the chaos of sweet trouble had become only deeper. Yes, games were always sweet. There was a certain charm in a muddle of confusion a new plan provided. The more it unravelled, the more excited he got, giddy as a child for his new-found toy.

He had sunk his teeth into this new ambrosia and tasted the trickles from its new, delightful tendrils that fell drop by drop on his eager tongue—a tongue of a lover that adored the evanescent fragrances and tastes of so many flowers; and when the thrill would enthral him completely, he would let it flood him with such eagerness that, for a moment, he would think he was no better than a madman, giving chase to the darkness that played hide and seek in the shadows. But then the thought would slink back into the undulating blackness like an unwelcomed nightmare, buried deep under the things he deemed not to be his necessities.

So it was a ritual, a requiem of loss for that one lonely thought he had buried himself as he stood in the cool draft of autumn wind pushing his shirt against his skin dotted with sweat from the heat of his jacket; he was no madman. No, he was a thrill seeker. And he had come to cheerfully embrace this side of himself a long time ago. Others may have hated, even loathed him for his sharp, harsh tongue that smoothed out the roughest of edges (occasionally) . . . and even women; but he shrugged off these sentiments—they were not his to collect.

Last night, when the cold rain had yet to stop, he slipped out of the futon and sent Kirin off to Karin. She had been sending him messages. He did not think her inclusion was necessary right now, but the way such a powerful seal could not prevent Naruto from leaving his manor—he had to admit it, he was being plagued by doubts. And these doubts were starting to gnaw away at his plans.

Was he being played? Was someone beating him at his own game? A look of cool anger flashed across his face. It was so quick, like a sudden flash of lightning that leaves a bright cobweb floating in one's eye, that no one's gaze could have navigated fast enough to see it; but only faster, like the coming of a heartbeat when you feel that a powerful pulse is about to throw the heart against the ribs . . . and then it was gone, suffusing the body with the slow crawl of life again.

Sasuke let out a breath of warm air, and then sucked a lungful of cool air back in. He wrinkled his nose a bit when the air pushed the musk of grass and soggy ground up his nostrils. His gaze stopped for a second on Naruto and met his cloudy blue eyes: he looked tired, oblivious, with Sakura's arm in his. Since Hinata was not here, Sakura somehow found it convenient to flaunt their arrangement out in the open.

He chose not to say anything. Naruto's forgetfulness was his advantage. He hung his head a little to the left and hid the smile breaking across his face. Yes, it was just a game . . . and the playtime had begun! He lifted his head suddenly and masked that fast-fading hint of glee (almost) perfectly behind that same old expression of duty that involved the dutiful raise of his brow and the shift of his facial muscles into a look of authority. It was truly a tired old ritual!

"I've called all of you here out in the cold to introduce a new member," he began and folded his arms more firmly than before. "I'm sure you can all see her. Her name is Uzumaki Karin, and she'll be the Sensor of the Team."

All of them were already looking at the young woman standing by Sasuke's side, looking quite excited. "Sasuke—I mean, Sasuke-Sama, do I have to introduce myself?" she asked and circled his waist with one arm.

Sasuke's jaw tightened, and he spared her a sidelong hard gaze that bored into hers. She immediately backed away and collected her glasses swiftly as if to prepare herself for the coming criticism. "This isn't a Genin class," he said in annoyance and clenched his teeth together. "You've already been introduced. Talk to Yuu and make yourself useful for the coming missions."

She laughed a little, but that laughter quickly died in her throat when she saw Sasuke walk away from her. Her smile vanished, and then she wore that indifferent expression on her face. Her soft pink-ish eyes turned left and trailed over to the lost lover staring at her with a boyish, innocent grin spreading across his face; then she gazed at the look of subtle apprehension Sakura's eyes could not manage to hide in time.

Karin cast one last quick glance at Sakura, and then methodically wiped her glasses with a clean cloth she had fished out of her pocket. She lifted them, her breath fogging the glass, and repeated the same circular motions with her thumb again. When she got satisfied, she put the glasses back on and fingered them back to their usual perch. She leant her head to one side and smiled a smile of delight that must have looked like happiness to everyone, even Sakura.

It was amusing . . .

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Sasuke lay still under the thin trickle of rainwater leaking in from the crack in the roof. A puddle grew wide next to him as it caught the persistent droplets. Drip drip drip . . . the sound was like hammers in his ears. He stirred his head a little and pulled back his dry lips that were stuck to the cold floor caked with dirt.

He exhaled sharply and hazily saw a small cloud of dust rise up into the air. The place was dark, save for a single shaft of moonlight travelling down and breaking into thin white wisps as it struck the wisteria coming in through the crevices in the roof. His head was pounding and his vision was blurred, swaying like a heaving boat on the tides in the storm.

He mustered up the courage and propped himself up on his elbows, his head hanging in exhaustion. It took a while before his cloudy vision allowed him the luxury to survey his surrounds: it was muddy and soggy, and the noise of the sky beyond the thick tree roots, burrowing into the tiny cave, grew angry. It was about to rain.

Sasuke whispered something to himself, but his voice was lost. Slowly, he got to his feet and put his hand on the harsh rocks to his right. They glowed in the dark. His chakra was out, and his Sharingan could not beat back to life again; his own power had abandoned him! How helpless he felt as an Uchiha with his anchor taken so harshly away from him? It was a nightmare come alive.

The rustle of feet through the grass turned his vision. He could not see anyone save for a tall shadow. The kunai in its hand glimmered in the pallid light and shone like a spectre of death at the sharp edge. His pride whipped the fear in him, and he stood defiantly before it—ready to take on the brunt of its cruelty.

The figure lunged forward, and it stabbed the knife through his heart. It was a magnificent sight: a thick shower of blood landed on the dry Sakura flowers strewn about the cave, dappled red with the last signs of his life; it was amazing how he just saw them—death had lifted the last secret's veil, and he could see everything clearly now!

He tried to speak but the air left him: his dying, unblinking eye caught the last drop of cool water . . . and he woke up, his breathing hard and heavy. He placed his hand on his sweaty forehead and wiped it across his face, collecting the sweat oozing from his every pore. The warm room was a welcoming place from the spectacle of his own death—even if it was in a dreadful dream.

Sasuke turned his head slightly, still not amused that Hinata had taken a refuge for the second night inside his room. But he let it slide. It was a sacrifice on his part, a hard compromise for the prize he was so desired. He eased back down into the futon and relaxed the tense muscles in his back.

Breathing in, he realized that this was the third time he had had this dream; his Sharingan was telling him something, and he intended to solve this mystery . . .

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The premonition was set into motion. No, he could not really say that for sure, but he could hear the wheels of its chariot turning, ready to crush and crumble his life and everything he held dear. But that would have to wait. He knelt down and picked up the last fallen Sakura flower of the season. They would not bloom again this year; their beauty was of short stay.

By his feet, countless tiny ripples disturbed the shallow marks in the muddy ground. The hard stone-road had been scoured away by the merciless autumn rains. If the ninjas did not know their paths right, they got lost in the vast forests, killed by spies or taken hostage. Konoha and Root always washed their hands clean of such petty matters. Lives did not matter to them as long as that nexus of power, sullied by corruption, remained undisturbed.

Sasuke breathed in the moist air and palmed his wet face, his lips pulling into a thin line. A frisson of disgust remained suppressed under his skin, cradled deep in the heart blackened by the slaughter of his people. When it beat, it sent bits of hatred coursing through his whole body: an anger he willingly embraced and cherished now . . .

He lifted his head and put his elbow on his knee and looked beyond the red hair flowing in the wind, breaking the last shafts of grey lights. Karin had tied her hair back into a ponytail. Presently, two fingers of her right hand were pointed upwards. She was concentrating. Her glasses were foggy and dotted with countless raindrops that slowly trailed down and splashed on her lips and nose. It was cold at this time of dusk.

"Anything?" he asked, stood up, and cleared his throat. The abrupt change in weather had given him a bad throat.

Karin opened her eyes and lowered her hands. "When he merges with water, it's difficult to track him," she said and blinked her right eye several times when a drop of rainwater clung to her red lashes and touched the surface of her dilating pupils. She removed her glasses and rubbed her eye with her fingers. When she opened it back again, it was red and teary.

"It's been a while," he said and turned on his Sharingan—that one tool that never lied to him. His ears were abuzz with the rustle of leaves that quivered in the rain. The dissonance of forest's melody did not disturb his vision. He kept looking, disappointed when his eyes failed to trace his chakra.

"Should we go and look for Jūgo?" Karin asked and shook her wet hand. Her red hair clung to her face like paste, her smooth cheeks blushing under the assault of light rain. The thinning rain was not lasting long enough for this foray. The wind was ice cold, and both of them felt its cruel lash on their skins.

Sasuke turned his head around, not finding a soul out here at this hour. Faint slivers of sunlight vanished behind the dark clouds that devoured the sinking sun. The grey blanket cast darkness below, and it dispersed like frightened children when the sky lit up with a roar. His cunning could not have anticipated this poor weather!

"Let him sing with his birds," he said and cast a bored gaze at her when she burst into girly giggles, "he might get luckier than us."

"Should I sense again?" she asked and moved her hands up to form a seal again. He could barely see her beyond the mist that rose between them—a grey ghost in the weak blackness.

"No, no need," he said louder this time as the wind hissed, cut through the air, and cried into their ears. "What's taking them so long?" He moved under the cover of branches that had gotten snarled up with the vines above them. Overhead, the leaves that barely clung to the branches with last signs of spring's life got severed by the wind.

"Sasuke, we won't find it in this weather. And even if we do, the rain would've cleaned up any leftover chakra. We should come back another day," she said and placed her hand on his shoulder. His Jōnin shirt was completely soaked though that she could feel his cold skin underneath.

"We _have_ to find it today. These rains aren't going to stop—I don't even know if I'll get a day off in the coming weeks. Nii-Sama will be back soon. He won't allow me to do as I please. You know how things are," he said in a throaty voice, peering into the grey mist by their feet. He could no longer see the grass underneath.

A look of curiosity came over her face, and then a clever smile broke it suddenly. "Your little pink-haired slut won't make my job easy," she said with teeth in her smile. "Should I just kill her? Keeping an eye on Naruto would be easier that way."

"She's not my lover. I've never touched that woman nor do I intend to," he gave a measured reply and drew in a cold breath—it travelled like ice in his lungs.

"Oh, poor her—bet the sow wants to fuck you so bad!" Karin said in a playful, mocking tone and pressed her finger over her soft lips. "I still think she would be nothing but trouble. Don't worry, I'll make it look like an accident."

Sasuke smiled at her _strange_ sense of humour—truly a wicked and innocent smile—and leant back against the rough tree. "Why dirty your hands with her blood? She isn't worth it," he broke off and fixed her with a mischievous look, "I wouldn't worry about her. But you really are a bit cruel, Karin."

"Are you still hung up on that dead whore?" she asked, her soft voice getting lost in the midst of a cacophony of so many sounds. "She was going to tell on us. If I hadn't done that, Root would've been onto you after what you did to _Fū_. I didn't have much choice."

"You could've wiped her memory. Murder—" he stopped to let out a heavy sigh, "it makes things complicated. It's better to keep things clean and simple. Sometimes, even the murder of a bystander can become a noose later. I would rather keep my neck free of that. You would do no such thing—not unless I tell you to."

"You're such a softy," she said and mashed herself against him, clasping her arms around his waist. "That's what I love about you. Such a romantic!"

"There's a certain romance in keeping matters from getting messy—that's what Nii-Sama says anyway," he said slowly and looked around; the mist fell down on them through the wet boughs like a cool cascade. "You'll do well to remember that." He walked out into the open as the rain eased up to a thin drizzle.

Karin walked behind him. Both of them stopped when they heard rustling in the wet bushes ahead. "It's okay. It's just Jūgo," Karin said and put her kunai away.

Sasuke's grip slackened on the hilt of his sword. Not a second later, a very tall man appeared from behind the bushes: he had quite a few birds perched on his wide shoulders; they chirped and sang in melodious voices, and for the life of him, Sasuke could never understand how he was able to talk to them.

"Sasuke," he said immediately as his gaze fell upon the young Uchiha, "I talked to the birds around the area. They don't seem to know much about the hidden trail. But they say that there is something at the base of the small mountain up ahead." He pointed north and stood with a calm disposition.

"Where's Suigetsu?" Sasuke asked and pushed the sword back into the sheath. "I hope he didn't get carried away by the currents—w ouldn't want him to get lost in the river."

"He should've made to it the entrance. He said he was too wet to walk around for now," Jūgo said and fed one of the birds few soggy breadcrumbs.

"Let the bastard die! Why did you ask him to come along?" Karin asked, looking irritated.

"Behave yourself, Karin," Sasuke said, turning his head to look at her features touched by a hint of anger. "I wouldn't have this here. You understand?"

Karin clucked her tongue irritably. "You'll get along and you'll do it without creating a mess for me," he continued as the Sharingan flared and then disappeared, overtaken by the usual blackness his eyes were so familiar with. "Don't disappoint me. Otherwise, you know I won't keep you around."

"All right, all right," she said, raising her voice. "But he better not get on my nerves."

"Lead the way, Jūgo," Sasuke said and ran behind the tall man followed by the reluctant Karin.

It took them a few minutes to reach a small clearing. Sasuke held out his palm and a flame came alive upon it, flickering and sizzling in the drizzle. When they stopped, he looked around. He had passed by this area a few times but never came upon this clearing. It was probably because of the pile of boulders before the area to the right. He never had any business to come here, anyway.

He walked carefully and let his Sharingan see through everything, even the clear chakra flowing within the water-like form of Suigetsu's odd body. "I thought you drowned," Sasuke said and elicited a loud laugh out of Karin.

"Yeah, ya would love that, huh, Karin? Ya just think 'am this tiny stone in yor path, dontcha? Like hell I am, because I'll be this giant boulder between you and Sasuke. Am never going to move. Ya hear me?" He moved his saggy face and revealed jagged, pointy teeth. It was hard to tell what kind of expression he was trying to make, as all Sasuke could see were tiny bubbles of water rising up to his blue skin. "But, really, Sasuke, I can't. Ya know why? Because 'am water, baby—am here, there, am everywhere!" He lifted the large sword up into the air as some sort of victory gesture and pulled a smile that sagged the next second. It looked as though he could not maintain any expression longer than two seconds.

"You shouldn't sit under the rain after being in the water for so long. I don't want to come back and collect you in buckets," Sasuke said with poker-faced seriousness.

"Ah, good times!" Suigetsu said aloud and snapped at the mist several times like an irritated dog as if it would dilute him more. "When was that again? Oh, yeah, that cloud village incident last year. The broad was about to flush me down the toilet. I still got nightmares."

Sasuke let out a subtle ' _hmm_ ' sound and moved his eyes around, looking at the thick line of trees standing all around them like an ominous, variegated curtain. It was hidden in plain sight. He had no reason to tread this far away from the main trail during his missions. How much were they hiding from their own military?

"I think she should have. You're already so full of shit!" Karin said with a snap, creating a disgusted expression as if Sasuke really had pulled him out of the gutters—bucket by bucket.

"That's rich, comin' from a whor—"

"Enough, both of you." Sasuke raised his hand and then turned a little to look at Suigetsu. "Where is it?"

"I'll take you, Sasuke. The birds are getting restless because of the negative Natural Energy here. They need harmony," Jūgo said with infinite calm and started for the boulders in front.

"Now ain't that guy an original thinker!" Suigetsu exclaimed and pointed his sword at Jūgo who disappeared behind the pile of large rocks worn thin by fungus and rain. "If only ya was like that, Karin. But with all that anger and guttery thoughts about Sasuke, you'll just disturb his peace-lovin' parakeets!"

"For Sake's sake . . . " Sasuke mumbled and walked behind Jūgo, not sticking around to lend a patient ear to Karin's uncultured insults that involved Suigetsu, his fluid penis, and his willing, dead mother.

When he turned the corner, he came across a shrine or what was left of it: it was shattered to pieces, and from the looks of it, not long ago! He knelt down and brushed his fingers on the hard mud. He could see nothing. The chakra, the prints, it was all gone save for the fragmentary bits of bluish energy plastered to the rocks, and it was not enough to pin down the wriggling worm. The rain took care of it and hid the culprit's identity; otherwise, his Sharingan would have seen the colour of that snake's chakra.

"Not quite what ya was expectin'?" Suigetsu asked from behind him. "I thought it always looked like that and was wonderin' what you'd want with this dump."

"No," Sasuke sighed out and stood up. His eyes turned and stopped on Suigetsu and Karin. "One of the Root members talked about coming in through the entrances in the south only three days ago. Someone destroyed this very recently. Karin, can you sense anything?"

Karin touched her glasses—it was a perfunctory habit for her. "There's residual chakra from someone here, but it's too small to sense anything. You're right. Someone did this quite recently," she said and moved a little to the left to look at the smashed entrance.

"Isn't there any way under it? I can slip inside," Suigetsu said and propped his sword against the tree.

Sasuke looked down at the entrance again and found nothing but darkness. The entrance was destroyed from both ends. There was not even a gap the size of a bodkin to squeeze through. "Leave it. Whoever it was, they sensed danger and acted before us. Even if you do manage to slip in, you'll be caught," Sasuke said, a look of confusion scurrying across his face.

"Any ideas who?" Karin asked.

"Don't know," Sasuke replied and brushed his fingers across his reddened cheek. "But I'll find out soon enough."

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	16. The Clever Older Brother

**Chapter Sixteen** : The Clever Older Brother

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A cool drizzle was back—autumn season had arrived. It would be a good five months before winter left and let spring and earth breathe with a new life. But even this season had its charms: purple lilies had begun to sprout out of the soggy ground after the rains had filled their roots with life; small animals burrowed their snouts deep into the ground and uprooted the yellow flowers. Even autumn was not completely affected by death. (It had its own story of a new life.)

It was autumn when Hinata was wedded off to Naruto . . . and what followed were five long years of loneliness. Sometimes, she wondered, what if it were spring when she was given over to the Uzumaki clan under the fresh bloom and quiver of Sakura flowers? Would they have blessed her marriage, made it last longer—made it more happy, more blissful? She sighed and dragged in a cool breath.

She let her gaze wander south and then looked down to the roots poking out of the ground that cradled a mass of fresh autumn flowers. It was then her eyes found the yellow flowers and there sprang a sudden feeling of hope in her heart—that same yellow colour that brought back old memories of herself . . . an abandoned lover. She had finally managed to discard it. It did not matter to her now, but yellow was the colour of autumn for her, a colour she wanted to forget!

So Hinata was not surprised by this new string of strength she had grasped. Out of all that governed her fate and jerked her around, this one was her own; no one would take that away from her! Her eyes managed to fend off the fear when she saw Naruto standing a few feet away from her. He looked happy, oblivious to the pain he had given her. A part of her cruelly thought that he should have raised his hand to her years ago. Maybe then she would not have fooled herself into thinking he would come around, change himself for her. She had no one to blame but herself.

She did not look away this time and met his blue eyes, which had the same boyish innocence she had once dearly loved, with a bold disposition. That look . . . it rent her heart, but she steeled it somehow and managed a small smile of her own. It ghosted over her lips like a kind spirit and then vanished just like that. A wide grin broke Naruto's face, and he scratched his messy hair. He waved at her quite energetically and then lowered his face to hide his blush: he looked like a Genin boy on his first romantic date.

Hinata did not know what to think. Was he mad? When she thought about it, her imagination came to a shuddering halt. He blew hot and cold. When he was warm, he would respect her, treat her kindly, albeit they shared no intimacy. But, lately, he had become so cruel to her—as cold as the autumn's wind that whipped her skin without kindness , without compassion. Where had he hidden his loving self? That part of him that loved her as a friend, even if he never truly wanted that bond to progress?

When Hinata felt the ice-cold rain fall down on her face, she realized that she did not want to know him, not anymore! She would not unfurl this cursed part of him, this new cruel streak that was beginning to haunt her like something evil and daemonic. So she rejected the idea to unravel this mystery and put a quick stop to her curious nature treading far into the darkness of his mind . . . what lay beyond his innocent eyes? It was better if she did not know.

Sasuke had told her that someone poisoned him: he was the sole heir of the wealthy Namikaze family, after all. It was not the first time someone had tried to take his life. _Poisoned?_ she thought. It did not really matter. She was standing out here now after withstanding the lash of Sasuke's cold words last night: he had asked her to be here or leave his team.

Itachi was to take her with him on a small mission. She thought of his brother, but for the life of her, she could not recall his face clearly. She had seen him years ago! What was he like? She would find out soon enough.

Standing amidst the Team she would be a part of in the future, Hinata took comfort in the thought that some things should just take their course. She was thankful to Sasuke, even Neji, for shouldering her when she needed someone to lean back on. Her eyes wandered to the left, and her gaze fell on Neji's calm face. He had his eyes downcast as he stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He always wore his hair long: it was a tradition passed down in her clan. Her father, her uncle . . . everyone kept long hair; it was a sign of pride!

His light brown hair was gathered into a ponytail, with two lank tufts hanging loose from above the headband around his forehead, framing his fair, handsome face. She let her gaze trail over his countenance and saw tiny brown freckles adorn the area around his nose. It was odd how they did not mar his features. Her eyes went lower to his pink lips dotted by the raindrops. He passed his tongue over his lips when they collected upon them by the dozens.

Her eyes admired him. There was a lingering sense of longing that hovered there. It was strange how she spent so many years chasing after Naruto, not looking Neji's way, not even once! It took time for her love to crumble away into many bits and pieces; and she would swear to herself that she would never be able to recollect and piece them all together! Nothing lasted forever, and she had been a fool to believe in that. Her love was lost, gone with the winds of change that plagued her life. She breathed in loudly, lowered her head a little, and looked through the curtain of thick black fringe on her eyes when Sasuke came into view from behind the trees with another tall man.

This was the first time she had seen Itachi after a gap of so many years; the brothers looked so alike! He had deep tear lines under his eyes that gave him a more sober appearance. His countenance was hard to read—flat and devoid of any emotion. He looked cold, colder than Sasuke. It was not till his eyes wandered in Sasuke's direction as he talked would they fill with a sudden flare of something so subtle . . . what was it? Love? Kindness? It was such a fleeting look that it was impossible for her eyes to read.

She put a stop to her wayward thoughts and raised her head when Sasuke's smooth voice wafted to her as he talked of the arrangement with Neji and his brother. The time to feel pity for herself was gone. She did not have many to trust, but she always had herself!

Sasuke walked with Itachi to her and stopped. Then he looked at his brother with an innocent, child-like obedience, his lips sealed as he waited for him to speak first. "You are Hyūga Hinata?" Itachi spoke in a smooth voice that sounded odd with his expressionless face.

"Y-Yes," she replied and bowed down. He was the Head of Anbu-Division but still a year shy of thirty: the youngest captain in the history of Konoha!

Itachi looked at her with a flicker of an odd sort of curiosity in his face, his deep eyes appraising her. "My brother has told me of your Byakugan. Does it need work?" he asked, stealing a quick look at his brother who wore the typical deadpan expression on his face now. "But I believe we can all agree that he can be a little . . . over-critical."

"Nii-Sama!" he protested with a barely audible mumble and looked around as if no one heard his brother's honest words.

A ghost of a smile came over Itachi's face. "Still a child—I doubt anyone heard," he said and patted his head. "I can teach you a trick or two to control your chakra. You will not have to contribute much to the mission other than your Byakugan. You can leave the rest to worry about any battles."

"Take notes, you might learn something," Sasuke said and created a ready-made expression of a Captain—an expression his face was probably too familiar with.

"Did you bring your supplies along? The mission might take more than a day."

"Y-Yes. For three days—just in case!" she said and clasped her fingers together, feeling a bit nervous. She did not want to perform badly in front of the Anbu Captain, so she had asked Yuu about as many details he could possibly give her.

"She _did_ take notes. You over-work your mind. Let it rest for a while," Itachi said in an almost offhanded manner and steered his gaze to look at his brother who was probably about three inches shorter than he.

"It's a part of my job. You take things lightly, Nii-Sama. I don't have that luxury. Most of your Anbu squad members are a bunch of charlatans. They shame you," he said in a profoundly deep voice. There was a hidden thread of emotion behind it, something that went beyond the present conversation. Hinata did not understand . . .

"Well, if they slack too much I might just drink that black tea that makes you so angry every morning. Then they may learn something. How right am I?" Itachi asked and put his hand on Sasuke's head again.

Sasuke did not say anything. A deep colour flared in his cheeks. He looked embarrassed. "We will whip them to shape, together then—that is a promise," he assured his silent young brother and returned his attention back to Hinata who was staring at both of them. "Follow me."

Hinata nodded and started behind Itachi who had about four other men with him she had never seen before. She stopped and looked back at Sasuke who turned his head away and started talking to two men who came into the clearing: one of them was unusually tall, and the other had that mischievous look on his face and a very large sword on his back. She did not know who they were.

Yuu told her this morning that Sasuke was going on a mission with two new Team members and that they would meet up with Itachi on the second day; she did not know what kind of mission she was being sent out for . . .

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When his brother disappeared from sight he brought his gaze to Jūgo and Suigetsu. Jūgo was carrying several birds on his wide shoulders. They must have considered it a comfortable perch. Suigetsu was smiling ear to ear. The wet weather pleased him. He took a sip from his bottle and stopped next to Sasuke.

"More drinks, and in this rain? You'll just make the ground soggier," Sasuke said, his lips pulling into a small but tantalizing smile.

"How mean," Suigetsu said and swilled the ice-cool water around his mouth, his face now bearing the marks of his water-like form. "It'll just give me spit a longer range. Last time, I managed it just two centimetres short of Karin's cup. This time, success is mine!" He bared his pointy teeth in a mischievous smile and gave Karin, who stood next to a huddle of trees, a side-long glance.

"Why don't you two ever get along?" Sasuke sighed out and looked from Jūgo's ever-calm face to Suigetsu's countenance that always made him look like a mean, Genin-academy prankster.

"I keep telling them that, Sasuke," Jūgo stated and petted one of his birds. "Their quarrelsome nature disturbs the Natural Energy in the area. It's bad for the animals, us, and even your temper." He brought his hand to Sasuke's shoulder and tapped it lightly.

"Anger is like his motor. Dontcha worry, Jūgo. He likes it angry and rough," Suigestu joked and let out a loud bark of laughter. A confused expression scurried across Jūgo's face—he did not quite understand it.

"With such keen sense of insight, I see a bright career for you in Konoha politics," Sasuke said, smiling.

"Tell me 'bout it. I kept insistin' in Mist that I would make a great Intelligence-Division member. I can cut off them limbs—like a ninja," he said in a whisper and made several odd dance-like gestures with his hands. "But tell me, does that pile of dust still live?"

"Danzō? Haven't seen him in years. But I'm sure he does," Sasuke said and his face began adjusting itself into a look of mild anger, but he subdued it quickly.

"I'll be damned!" Suigetsu said, looking surprised. "Must look like a fuckin' dried up turnip right about now." He reached to his back and slipped the bottle into the fanny pack he was carrying, along with a few supplies.

"Who knows, all he needs is a nudge, honestly," Sasuke spoke in such a subdued voice as if he was talking to himself.

"Do the other two corpses breathe, too?" Suigetsu asked and stretched his eyes wide in disbelief when Sasuke gave a silent nod. "Unreal. No wonder when I passed by their office it stank to high-heaven. They don't change their poop-soakin' cloths often, I'll bet."

"Keep it down. Not everyone dislikes the Political Lobby here," Sasuke warned as his eyes skittered around the field and then he lowered them.

"Who says I dislike 'em all?" Suigetsu asked and made a loud gurgling sound. He spat a gob of spit that went south like a bullet and speared clean through a tree. "Yor Hokage is one _fine_ woman. Tell her that I'm wet enough for the both of us."

"She'll probably call you for evaluation. You can tell her yourself," Sasuke replied lazily. His gaze wandered a bit to the right, and his jaw went tense with irritation; Sakura was making her way to them. He bent his head down and spoke, "go and stand by the gate and call Karin. We'll leave in a few minutes."

"Okie-dokie. Come on, Birdman. I see so much humour and tragedy in these sad and abandoned birdies' eyes." Suigetsu walked behind Jūgo and waved his hand at Karin. She fingered her sparkly clean spectacles grudgingly and then moved.

"New team members?" Sakura asked, her gaze flitting from Suigetsu to Jūgo to Karin. Her green eyes were glazed over with a few cool raindrops, yet they still measured their every gesture, every subtle movement of their lips.

"Naturally—is that why you came here?" Sasuke asked and angled his head to look into her eyes that still glinted with desire for him. His upper lip twitched with something between irritation and amusement, but he chose to keep his words to himself this time.

"No, I—" she stopped and reached into the small backpack to pull a rolled scroll out, "I came here to give you this."

He took it from her hand and unrolled it. A low sarcastic laugh rumbled in his throat that brought out a humiliated expression on her fair face. Her cheeks burnt red, and she clenched her fingers into fists, her nails digging into the wet palms.

"Congratulations. You finally got into my Team with your own hard work. Aren't you proud of yourself?" he said and burnt the scroll with a flame that flared up suddenly on his palm.

"You don't have to mock me!" she said, and her voice cracked with emotion. Her eyes, which cradled a hint of gentleness, looked dead: they bore the marks of a beaten woman. His tongue wounded her every time and made tiny wounds in her heart—those wounds did not seem to heal.

"Don't talk back," Sasuke said and the sharp hiss of his voice died against the sudden noise of wind. Then the wind slowed down to a pleasant breeze that brought with itself the smell of wet earth and flora. "You should feel lucky that I haven't made this public. Imagine, the rest of the Team would've thrown you out all by themselves if they knew. You should thank me. No one would've coddled you the way I did."

"Thank you for not forgetting to remind me," Sakura said in a defiant voice, her lips shaking with anger. Deep fires of passion and desire she felt for him burnt with hatred; they mingled into an exquisite mixture that would need to be snuffed out later.

Sasuke created a sober stone-cold face that followed a fleeting smile that did not stay there for long. He did not seem affected by her desperate comebacks when he knew he sent her heart skipping beats at his command, made her spirit weak with a mere intense cast of his gaze. He never played any games with her, and he won them—always!

She whipped her head away, not wanting him to see the painful desire suck out all the anger from her eyes. He made her weak, and she was beginning to resent it all. Why did he not want her? She told him once that she did not need a reason to love him and she was honest—for she loved him with all her heart. It belonged to him—its every beat, every resonating pulse that made her feel alive; but he did not care . . .

"Tsunade-Sama probably won't accept them," she whispered, with her face still turned away. "You know what happened with other Teams' applications."

"I don't have time for you," Sasuke spoke with nothing but irritation in his voice. Sakura's eyes trailed along the side of his face before he walked away. His face, which was forever marked with nothing but frigidness for her, made her heart ache for him.

Her gaze lingered where he stood with his new Team, and then she directed it skyward. These mornings were bleak. She felt tears dribble down her pink cheeks; but the rain hid her shame today, and the wind overpowered that tiny sob that drifted from her lips (but could not make it to his ears to thaw his stone-heart that probably held no desire for anyone) . . .

"Keep an eye on Naruto. You're staying here," Sasuke commanded Karin. He turned his head and gestured Neji to come over to him. Neji was standing with Yuu. He jogged for Sasuke and stopped close to the motley bunch—that was one word for them, he thought. "You and Karin are in charge. Don't make Naruto over-exert himself. He wasn't feeling well. If I need someone, I'll send Kirin."

"All right, Sasuke-Sama," he said and moved his lips to say something more but stopped.

"Don't worry, Hinata is with Nii-Sama. He's a far better Shinobi ninja than I am. You worry needlessly about your cousin," he assured and then returned his gaze back to Karin who did not look happy with the arrangement. "Help Neji manage Naruto and the Team. I don't want any complaints when I get back."

"Sasuke, I—"

"We both know how stubborn you can be. You're a part of the Team now. Do your part," he cut her off and turned around, ignoring Suigetsu's wink and that loud whistle that rang around them like an annoying Genin academy days' halftime bell, despite the persistent pitter-patter of the rain.

In a second, Sasuke and the other two men disappeared behind the trees. Karin turned a little to face Neji. "Introduce me to the Team. I would like to know them," she said and put on her fake smile that had Neji completely fooled!

# # # # # #

A swathe of thick greyness hung low over Konoha's forest that stretched for countless miles. Mist, white as snow, settled thickly over trees and fell through the naked branches to float down. The soggy ground by their feet was white and invisible. Itachi could feel the chill bite into his feet through the thick sandals. They were wet with moisture. But he had experienced worse, far worse.

His Sharingan was on, and an eerie red light shone magnificently from his eyes. In the midst of the ghostly whiteness that red was a pulsing Philosopher's Stone: something holy to answer all the prayers of desperate, mortal men. He moved his gaze and kept his vision as steady as a still boat floating on a tranquil lake. Hinata followed him and three other men followed in the rear with their swords out.

As their feet moved, the thick lake of mist ruffled and created ripples. It felt as if they were moving through the divine lake that fell down as a holy cascade from the heaven where the Sage lived. Their journey had the illusion of being blessed. But Itachi knew that beneath the veil of holiness lurked misery, hate, revenge, and even death. He had seen a sea of human shambles as a child when he ran away with a newborn Sasuke in his arms . . . from a village burning up in flames!

The stench of burnt flesh was in the air, and it was a day like this—misty and bleak. Screams of Men and children alike speared the smog in the small burning village on the outskirts of Rain. It was an inhuman sight as swords fell down over and over again to slaughter everyone indiscriminately. He had gone there to visit his friend. His caretaker died, and they chased after him out of the village—a frightened little animal followed by the relentless and cruel shinobi from Mist: they wanted their still dormant Sharingans!

He remembered that black day as the mist in the area touched his cold cheek; now, twenty-one years later, it felt pleasant. But it brought back a flood of memories that crashed as roaring waves against the barrier of his composure, cracking it just a bit to let that malice of forgotten memories come out. His lips trembled a little, and he remembered. No, the mist made him remember: little Sasuke lying cold and still in his arms after he had cried himself to sleep from hunger and thirst.

The cloth Itachi had wrapped around Sasuke's tiny body got tattered in the chase as it caught the thorns on the rose bushes. He stumbled and wheezed with fear, carrying Sasuke who looked fearfully back into his eyes. He did not know when his sandals' straps broke and when they came off his feet. Running on the stones, his bare feet bled, but he did not stop. Sasuke was only a few months old. His little brother understood that they would be killed if he let out even a tiny sob—it was a connection they shared.

The babe did not make a sound when Itachi hid in the dank and clammy cave that was dark and lonely. There he sat behind the harsh stones, squeezing Sasuke to himself as he breathed slowly, watching Sasuke's tiny hand curl with love around the hair of his ponytail.

The men went away, but he kept hiding there like an innocent animal that had just escaped the fire and found refuge in a dark burrow. The battle continued on for three days, but Itachi sat there, fearful that if someone from Mist found them, they would kill him and his little brother for Sharingans. So he did not leave and put his tongue into his brother's mouth when the thirst would make him wail like dry leaves in autumn. Sasuke would suckle on it and then lose consciousness.

When the pitiless thirst would become unbearable for the eight-year-old child, he would unfurl his tongue and catch a few drops on it that fell down from the roots poking into the cave above his head. They were ice-cool, but they moistened his tongue that was a piece of dry-wood in his blistered mouth. Then he would clutch Sasuke to himself whose fragile, hurried breathing made him look like a child on the verge of tasting that eternal blackness from where there was no return.

Itachi had put his tongue willingly into Sasuke's mouth again and felt him suck out the few drops of cool water he had tasted, leaving his own self on the brink of death. But Itachi did not care. He loved that fragile little thing without reason, without condition, without limit. His love for it knew no bounds!

"There there, Sasuke," he whispered and planted a kiss on the child's cold forehead when he cried with thirst. "I will _always_ protect you." Then Itachi rocked it to sleep and watched Sasuke's lips bleed from dryness when he gave out a series of tiny sobs—he had no wind in his small lungs to cry anymore.

He knew Sasuke wanted to suckle on Mikoto's nipple, draw out milk to his heart's content. He lifted Sasuke's shirt and saw his condition: Sasuke was hungry; his stomach was bloated; his skin was stretched grotesquely over his pronounced ribs. Itachi did not know when tears broke from his eyes and fell down on Sasuke's sallow cheeks as his breathing slowed down . . . the little body in his arms was so close to death—he had felt another change in his vision then. He barely managed to carry him outside on the fourth day. The light of the warm sun stung on his skin when he squinted his eyes to look skyward. That was when his strength gave out, and he collapsed, hugging Sasuke tightly in his small arms.

He had promised to himself then that he would shield Sasuke from the world, drag him towards light when the shadows of life would try and take him. His love for him made the Heaven so envious of its purity, and Hell's pit rumbled, angry at the intensity of his attachment to this mortal and the would-be sinner he would become for him. Yes, Sasuke was his everything, and he would gladly bear his shame and his burdens, as long as it would keep him safe and happy.

A smile disturbed his face, but it faded behind the blanket of mist. No one could see a man taking joy in his own world. His thoughts always remained undisturbed no matter what happened beyond his mind. He was secretive that way; he was dangerous that way. No one could read that face: his features did not map any emotions for all to see. They remained locked inside him, and he was unafraid to bear them for all eternity.

The mist seemed to thicken as if it was a white brick-wall that would not break even if it was left alone for aeons under the assault of rains. It kept piling on them like tons of snow, only weightless and cool. His Sharingan was starting to fail him as in this mist was the taint of coloured chakra. It was hindering his vision. It was a trap but he came prepared. He made a gesture with his hand, signalling Hinata to look at the surrounds.

Hinata turned on her Byakugan and closed her eyes, her vision making through the gently closed eyelids. The world was drenched in shades of black and white and grey. She could see men standing all around them. Her face broke out in cold sweat despite the chill hanging in the air. It struck her body like a bucketful of ice-cold water and made an electrifying, fearful jolt shoot through her body. Her body shook with the fear of mortality now. She had never been in such a situation before.

Itachi looked over his shoulder, Sharingans glowing in his sockets, and made another gesture with his hand. She quickly stood behind him with a fighting stance, and the three men behind her fanned out. He pushed his body forward and created seals so fast that her eyes could not read anything.

" _Katon: Gokakyu no Jutsu_ ," he said aloud with a heavy accent and the next second a monstrous orb of fire tore up the ground underneath them, travelling forward at high speed.

The surrounding mist dispersed and revealed so many men standing high up on the trees all around them. About ten of them were not so lucky; they got burnt to a crisp, unable to evade the fire in time. The heat in the area made the sweat on Itachi's skin tingle. He clenched his fingers into a firm fist and stopped the flow of chakra. The fire disappeared in answer. Itachi swung his sword wide and deflected several shurikens thrown at him and Hinata with ease.

"Spread out," he commanded and jumped up, leaving Hinata alone in the fray. She took one step back, then another . . . and then another one and looked at Itachi dispatch ninja after ninja with lightning fast speed. They surrounded him like flies but got swatted like them just as quickly, too. His face was calm and composed and bore no signs of the anxiety that was beginning to spread through her whole body.

She wanted to run away into the woods, but there were too many of them. They would chase and kill her with sheer numbers. No matter where she looked, blood flew into the air and splattered over the dry barks and the soggy ground. The area had now been reduced to a scene of macabre painting. A new mist rose relentlessly into the air again, guided by nature this time. The whole scene appeared to move in slow motion before her eyes—red drops hung in the air against pure white. It was a scene of holy martyrdom!

Fear had slowed down the time and her voice. She tried to whisper Itachi's name when her Byakugan caught sight of a dagger launched at the back of her neck. It was a sudden reflex action. She fell forward to the ground to avoid it, but quickly got back up on her shaky feet and pushed out one of her hands in a Taijutsu stance. There was no helping it: it was kill or be killed!

The man grinned, amused by her expression that was bathed in nothing but fear. She was rusty, but that did not mean she would stand still for him to kill her. "Vacuum Palm," she suddenly shouted. The chakra she expelled from her palm hit the ninja square in his abdomen and knocked the wind out of him. He got thrown several feet back and smashed into the tree behind him; but that did not stop his movement. He knelt down and spat out blood. She had hit his internal organ, but the damage was not enough to stop him.

He tightened his hold on the sword and lunged at her. He was fast, too fast, as he swished his sword left and right and desperately tried to cut her head clean off her body. She kept bouncing back, glancing off every quick strike of his blade with perfect counters of her gentle fist. But she was still on the defense. If this continued, she would be in deep trouble.

Her fear distracted her, and, not a second later, the sword sliced cleanly through the branch to the right and nicked her shoulder, opening a half an inch wound. She had stepped back just in time. The wide swipe managed to cut off the tip of her fringes. She slumped back against the tree and grabbed her wounded arm, feeling warm blood underneath her hand. It stung! She clenched her teeth and breathed heavily as if she had just run a marathon.

Behind her back, sounds of metals' clashing permeated the air. Blazing hot fire ran to the left and then steam rose up into the air. These ninjas had _Suiton_ _Jutus_. They knew Itachi was coming? Her hair floated up against her face, guided by warm currents that gathered around her feet as Itachi used another Katon attack in shape of a few large dragon heads. What followed were blood-curdling screams and the stench of sizzling human flesh. She wanted to vomit.

There was no time to look behind her back. If she turned back, she would let her guard down and this man would never miss that chance! Hinata's heart jumped in her breast, but she did not try to soothe it this time. She moved her hands down and clenched them into tight fists. Chakra glowed over her fists and took on the shape of Twin Lions. They were still not properly formed; her chakra control . . . it was only now that she realized how crucial it was.

Hinata opened her mouth wide, her face drenched in sweat. She sucked in the charred air deeply as though she was about to take a deep plunge into the ocean. The decision was made, and there was no holding back now. She lunged forward and frantically swung her arms wide. Even the slight brush of his skin against her wispy blue lions sucked out the chakra from his body. Warm fresh energy flowed into her system, replenishing her, giving strength to her weak legs. She was afraid, but the shakiness was getting throttled by her resolve to live.

The blue aura from her Twin Lion fists swirled and moved in circles around her, trailing behind her attacks. Every single movement drew more and more of his chakra till his movements became sluggish. Now was the time to finish this off before more men came running to his aid. She knew she would not be able to handle them—not now.

So Hinata curled her fingers, pointed two of them out, and jabbed them into his chakra points. What followed was a barrage of stabs in quick movements. She closed off thirty-two of his points when her skill reached its limit. She stumbled forward, unable to extend it to sixty-four points. He coughed blood as he remained rooted to the spot, but he moved his hand up shakily to strike her down. Seeing this, Hinata moved her arm back, but she was too close and too slow!

She blinked when a flying kunai dug into his forehead. A shocked expression froze on his face and blood sprayed out of the deep wound. It landed on the side of Hinata's neck. She whipped around and found Itachi standing behind her. He was holding three kunais in his hand. Behind him were countless corpses strewn about the ground; some of them were charred beyond recognition and others were cut up into pieces. The stench of death in the air was overwhelming.

The rest of their Team members landed on the ground. One of them looked injured. "I did not want to interfere. You seemed to be doing well," he said to Hinata and put the bloody sword into its sheath. "This is what a shinobi's life is like. It is constant danger. Be sure of what kind of life you are signing yourself up for."

Hinata did not say anything. It was a dangerous experience. Her heart was still not calm as it skipped beats, going against her command to soothe itself. It had been five long years since she had last moved her hands to use Taijutsu. It felt odd somehow. She still felt the heat of battle on her skin that managed to keep the chill in the air at bay. The smell of burnt flesh was overpowering. She wanted to go as far away from this place as possible.

A sizzling sound came from behind them. One of the men was still alive and . . . he had many explosive tags stuck under his jacket. "Itachi-Sama, he is about to blow us all up!" one of the men shouted.

Itachi threw a kunai at his forehead, but his hand was still falling down. Before it could touch the earth and pull the string for the explosives, Itachi grabbed Hinata and used the _Fuma-Shuriken_ strings he had tied to a tree several meters away as a last backup plan. He swung up with Hinata in his right arm, the rest of the ninjas trailing a little behind. They had not even made it ten meters into the air when the area blew up. Fire blazed and expanded out behind them.

The tree where the strings were tied was so high up. The heat from the blast was beginning to catch up: it burnt on Hinata's skin, and her hair shrivelled as it touched the black tips. She was flying, looking at the forest speed past her eyes. But the growing blast of fire died. They swung across and landed in a clearing safely. Itachi pulled back what was left of his strings and looked at her. "That was a little close," he said coolly and wiped his sweat-drenched forehead clean.

 _The life of a ninja was dangerous_ , he had just said; she did not know what to feel . . .

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	17. The Tulip Squad

**Chapter Seventeen** : The Tulip Squad

 **AN** : My take on how **Amaterasu** works has been explained in this chapter. I've used several inhibitions on the technique's usage. The rest mostly remains the same.

 **Canon Manga Info** : **Kirin** ( **Sasuke's Jutsu** ); the technique itself doesn't require any chakra; it's raw lightning and Sasuke simply guides it down by turning his own body into a conductor (a small amount of chakra is required for that). It requires chakra without the clouds as shown during that Orochimaru hideout meeting. There really is no comparable Jutsu in the entire manga that works on the same mechanics. That's a testament to Sasuke's exceptional, unmatched skill in Raiton and Chakra Control as he literally shapes and controls natural lightning without any chakra. According to Black-Zetsu, _**"it's a technique that goes beyond Nin-jutsu."**_

It's basically _Spatial_ and _Elemental_ _Re-composition_ on a natural phenomenon without any inclusion of chakra. No individual in the entire manga can control natural phenomenon at this level bar Kaguya (her techniques are, of course, **kekkei-Mōra** and much larger in scale and power as she has a lot of chakra at her disposal). And it's not a surprise as, according to Kurama in canon manga, Sasuke's Nin-jutsu talent and chakra control (along with skill in this regard) are at the Sage of the Six Paths' level.

 **Amaterasu** : Sasuke casts it from his left eye and controls it with his right eye. It also appears/converges on the target. It isn't a projectile as many erroneously believe. Its use is shown by a small amount of blood flow from the casting eye. It's a **Mangekyō** **Sharingan** Dōjutsu. Sasuke had this technique (along with the ability to manipulate the flames) before he ever took Itachi's eyes for **Eternal Mangekyō** **Sharingan**. Furthermore, only Sasuke has the **Kagutsuchi** ability (the ability to control flames), Itachi does not. It was also hot enough to kick-start a hot-spot storm, twice, around the Uchiha Hideout.

It's capable of eating through and eliminating all chakra-types (Bijū included; Hachibi's chakra flesh was burnt to a crisp and Naruto's chakra cloak was eaten through as well) and Natural Energy (as shown and stated by Kabuto when his **Sage Art: Inorganic Reincarnation** was cancelled because of the heat of the flames; it works entirely on Natural Energy that breathes life into whatever he has chosen to animate; Kaguya's **ice block** was also created out of Natural Energy as she's one with Nature and is capable of manipulating it) provided that the flames are focused on the target as unfocused, residual ones burn slowly.

# # # # # #

Rain grew heavy, like small pebbles, and thunder boomed as clouds spread wide above the forest. A wet curtain fell over their eyes and clouded their visions. Despite not wanting to play with Sharingan, Sasuke took it out regardless. Rain droplets collided and hammered into the stones all around them—a melodious cacophony. He could barely hear himself think as sparks of lightning raced through grey, and sounds of exploding thunder roared in their ears.

"Man, ya sure picked a fine day to drag me out here!" Suigetsu screamed behind him, hoping that his voice carried itself over the loud sounds. He wore a thick water-repellent coat. Its hood hung low over his eyes. His hands were covered with thick gloves, and his feet were warm in heavy boots.

Sasuke remained quiet. They had to reach the desired destination before darkness fell; otherwise, it would make the mission much harder. It was simply an issue of killing two birds with one stone. He had to fulfil Mei's request, concerning the rogue ninjas from Mist, and catch two other rogues Suigetsu had intel on. But the latter had nothing to do with Mist's mission: it had everything to do with his personal vendetta.

Wind shushed and rushed past his wet face, leaving a persistent buzzing sound in his ears. The rain was not thinning, but they were in luck today; the cover of Nature had blessed their journey. It would be easy to give Mei's guards a slip through the murky curtains and reach the second destination ahead of time. Sasuke smiled to himself and increased his speed whilst all of them jumped from one tree-branch to the next.

"Hey, slow down, will ya? Not all of us are as fast as ya!" Suigetsu yelled behind him, and his ringing voice disappeared in the harsh sounds of thunder.

Sasuke paid him no heed. He could feel a surge of current coming their way—a large bolt of lightning was about to reach them and strike them down. He moved through the trees like a blur and landed into a clearing and shot both his hands up with his palms facing out. There was a blinding flash, and a loud bang rocked the whole area.

A single blue line pulsed and throbbed like a vein; it latched itself to Sasuke and the clouds above. Then it roared, whipped its head about, and took the form of a tamed dragon, its scales glimmering-blue like the gauziest of crystals one could have laid his eyes on. It was a magnificent sight! He had managed to call all the lightning in the area unto himself. Suigetsu let out a loud whistle and stood still on a thick branch that held his weight. A stunned smile broke across his face.

"Sasuke was always really good with _Raiton_ , but it's the first time I have seen Kirin," Jūgo said and slowly adjusted the wet heavy coat on himself. He patted the birds' heads that poked out of the row of pockets he had on the inside.

Sasuke moved his arm with lightning speed and shot a bolt of Raiton towards a few branches, adorned with lush green leaves, high up on a tree. It clove clean through the bark above and disappeared into exploding sparks about two hundred feet away. "Don't even think about it," Sasuke warned, still standing in the shroud of lightning.

"Zabuza-San," Suigetsu yelled and jumped down, his body suddenly convulsing with the assault of sparks travelling through his water-like body as his boots met the muddy ground.

"You shouldn't have jumped down so soon," Jūgo said—he wore a dead-pan look eternally pasted on his face. Half of his arm was metamorphosed into a thick exoskeleton. A few crab-like claws adorned the tip of his fist, hard as steel. He jumped down close to Sasuke, and his eyes locked on the two ninjas caught in the mist with Sharingan's tricks.

They made no sudden movements and neither did Sasuke. His arm was still outstretched and two of his fingers were pointed at them with a bright spark still fizzing at their tips. "Throw away those senbons or the next one goes straight through your head," Sasuke warned again, his voice deep and threatening.

The shorter one of the two, who still had a mask on, threw them close to Sasuke's feet. "We didn't know who you were," the short one said from behind the wet mask, his voice small and mellow like that of a child. "Suigetsu-San didn't say he was bringing any company."

"I . . . I think I just pissed in me pants," Suigetsu said from behind Jūgo. His arms were still trembling a little.

"Suigetsu, stop fooling around. Are they those two?" Sasuke asked, not lowering his guard. This was something his brother had taught him during their boar hunts: no matter how harmless a prey looked, it could always bare its teeth and strike when one least suspected.

"I'm serious. I had been holdin' it in for the past two hours," Suigetsu replied in a voice that wobbled quite pitifully.

"I don't think anyone would be able to tell," Sasuke said coolly and listened to the wind slow down. With that spark gone, the storm lost the battle to overwhelm them. His eyes slightly moved up to see a small tear in the clouds. The rain would end soon . . . and this foray had to, as well. He did not have much time!

"Thanks a lot!" Suigetsu shot back and made an awful face. "My pants smell now—and it's all yor fault, Zabuza-San." He reached his hand around to his back and took out the large executioner blade from its massive sheath.

"The welcoming committee is a pack of sour children," Zabuza rasped, his lips moving subtly under the cloth wound tight around his mouth. "That's my sword."

"Never gave ya the impression that this was a welcomin' committee," Suigetsu said and ran his tongue over those pointy white teeth. "Finders' keepers, losers' weepers. Besides, that's a nice kitchen knife—suits yor built." He pointed the large sword at them; its smooth tip glistened with raindrops that trailed down its sharp edge.

A mild frown creased Zabuza's forehead. "As insolent as your brother," the man said in a grave, rough voice. He had a thin dagger-like sword clutched in his left hand.

"He taught me well," Suigetsu said and pumped water into his arm: it bloated within a second and ripped open the thick sleeve at the seams. It was massive. "The scroll, Zabuza-San. Ya know how this goes. With those Mist guard-dogs from the bitch at our heels, it might get tricky."

"What guarantee is there that you'll give us the citizenship permits to Rain? You never were trustworthy, Suigetsu," Zabuza spoke, and his voice hissed sharply behind the rough cloth.

Suigetsu chuckled and licked his lips. "Ya will just have ta take a leap of faith, then," he said and turned the sword's handle in his hand, his eyes not leaving Zabuza's heavy gaze that hid the torments of Mist's sordid past—a past marred by streaks of corruption.

"You'll get the permits. It's in my interest that you do," Sasuke assured and lowered his hand. His body soaked up the entire charge. A single drop of sweat burst out from his forehead, but in the light drizzle, its disguise was perfect.

"Sasuke, ya don't know 'im like I do. The guy could have an army of thugs waitin' nearby. We need ta see the scroll first," Suigetsu said and stepped forward, his feet sloshing through the muddy water gathered beneath their sandals caked with mud.

"If he doesn't have the scroll, then I'll kill him and the other one right here, burn the bodies with Amaterasu until not even their ashes are left to scatter across the land. I don't like it when people break their promises," Sasuke said in an even voice, and its smoothness sent a cold shiver up Zabuza's spine as his eyes met Sasuke's that cradled the changed pattern of Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan.

"That might work, too," Suigetsu said and stabbed the sword into the ground.

"Haku, stand down," Zabuza said and raised his hand to stop the young ninja from taking out more senbons to target Sasuke's weak spots. "So Suigetsu was working for you in Rain?"

"Why did you bring a child along? He might cut kite strings with these chopsticks, but I doubt it'll kill any wary shinobi," Sasuke remarked and turned his eyes that snuffed out the heat of his Mangekyō's pattern, and returned to the usual calm of three commas they always wore, to look at the boy's small frame: he was a good two inches shorter than five feet and wore a wide Hakama that was too big for his thin legs.

Zabuza jumped down when he saw the ferocious fire in Sasuke's eyes die down. Haku followed him, holding three senbons in his hand. He looked ready to strike, and Sasuke found it amusing. "He may be a child, but he's a Chūnin-Class ninja. I trained him myself." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a scroll.

"Did you know about this?" Sasuke tilted his head a little to look at Suigetsu and took the scroll from Zabuza's hand.

"Don't look at me. He told me that his partner, Haku, also needed the permit. I had no idea it was someone who still wore spare soft-cloths ta hold in his shit," Suigetsu said and leant on the large sword that sunk a little more into the ground.

"One more embarrassing incident like this one, and I might ask you to wear one as well. You smell awful," Sasuke said and unrolled the scroll. "How old are you?" He looked down at the child who took his mask off and revealed the face of a babe that had yet to relish the maturity of life or experience the first blush of youth!

"I just need ta air this a bit. Yor too sensitive sometimes." Suigetsu spread his arms wide and let the rain pour into his form.

"Ten," Haku replied, his voice so small that Sasuke felt a pang of pity for him. He was too young to be thrust into the cruel business of rogue ninjas.

"Don't you feel even a small ounce of shame, taking in a child so young and turning him into a hired hand for thugs?" Sasuke asked and looked from Haku's innocent face, still unaffected by the cruelties of murder and death, to Zabuza's hard one affected by the same sins the child's soul was still safe from.

Zabuza let out a dry chuckle and placed his hand on Haku's small shoulder. "You live in the comforts of a manor, Uchiha-San. You don't know much about the harsh life of small villages Konoha and others have preyed on. It's a vicious cycle. I took him in when his own kin tried to sell him off to a militia in the West. With these permits, I can finally start over in Rain as a part of their Guard-Squad. And this child might get the life I promised him," Zabuza said, his voice heavy with the truth of his own unkind life.

"Promises . . . " Sasuke whispered to himself and lowered his eyes. He, too, had made a promise: to avenge his kin and exact vengeance on those responsible for his misery. His eyes ran over another kind of truth the scroll told him. "How many rogue ninjas Mist supported as the secret Tulip Squad force after the bartering of Byakugans?"

"My guess? About fifty. I could only pin down sixteen names out of the elite twenty that were directly involved in secret operations with Root and other villages in some shady political business. Danzō and your Elder council never made it public. It says nothing about the Byakugans, though. Why are you . . . ?" Zabuza stopped, his gruff voice trailing off.

Sasuke's wet finger traced the rough black lines on the paper. Blots of black, irremovable chakra ink had dried out. That side of the page was quite messy. He remembered the scroll he found hidden deep inside Mist's underground storage unit—things seemed to come together now!

"Three sets of Head family Byakugans disappeared from the Hyūga clan's list more than a decade ago. Ao has adorned his empty socket with a new Byakugan. He claims it's a trophy of war. But the funny thing is, he only keeps one. Where did the second eye go? I can bet those five were distributed amongst these elite Tulip Squad members," Sasuke said, his eyes intently looking at the signatures from Danzō and the Elders. Their names had dried out, sealing the fate of his clansmen over something so small.

"Let me guess, Kisame-San coughed this up before he bought the farm? I've heard rumours that he died. Is it true?" Suigetsu asked and bounced the flat of his hand off the sword's thick hilt.

Zabuza turned his eyes, and his gaze momentarily stopped on the massive man that stood quietly next to Sasuke; he was still busy petting and feeding rows of tiny beaks poking out of his coat's pockets. "Looking for Samehada, are you?" Zabuza asked and narrowed his eyes that glinted with a familiar look of amusement. Suigetsu's obsession with new swords was a bit vulgar: he used whatever means necessary to get new ones and discard the old ones he grew tired of.

"Out with the old and in with the new," Suigetsu paused and grinned with all his jagged, pearly-white teeth exposed, "still, sixteen names are a bit less than what we asked for. I'm disappointed, Zabuza-San. Ya didn't even bring the sword along for a good flavour."

Zabuza's keen eyes studied his face for a moment before he spoke, "this sword business for you—almost as vulgar as men with new colourful women." A sharp shriek of thunder resounded in the area, stopping him from saying anything more. The tear in the cloud had closed up. Nature was kind to Sasuke—for now. "Yes, Kisame died. I don't know when and I don't know how. He simply disappeared when Mei took charge about two years ago. Kisame gave me this scroll not long before that. It was intel to grant us a safe passage off Mist's grounds."

"Sounds so convenient." Suigetsu's shrill voice turned into a chuckle.

"A valuable information for the highest bidder," Sasuke remarked and suppressed the quiver of his lips that threatened his emotionless face to break into an amused smile. "That's why you reached out to Suigetsu? You knew what had happened in Konoha. You also knew he worked for me under the guise of the Guard Squad. That can't be the only thing you know. Permits seem like a large payment for such a small piece of information. What else are you hiding, Zabuza, one of the underlings in the Tulip Squad? Am I right?" Sasuke's eyes blazed with the new pattern. A red teardrop bubbled out of his tear-duct. Thick and red, it trailed slowly down his white cheek. His intense eyes bore the familiar marks of danger and death—things Zabuza knew all too well.

Zabuza's face remained calm, hiding the ferocious ocean of anxiety that crashed against his composure. "You're clever," he stopped and tightened his hold on the sword, "it's not as simple as you think. It's a complicated matter. Far too complicated—perhaps, even for you."

"Try me," Sasuke said, his voice had that sharp, cutting edge to it.

Zabuza closed his eyes under the light drizzle. It created a light, see-through wall between them as the sun rays struck the countless raindrops pelting them. Clouds were piling up far to the east on the horizon now. "I only found out about Suigetsu through Kisame. He knew his brother," he began with a sharp intake of breath, "someone from Konoha, someone close to you, is leaking information about who you hire for your missions."

"Did he say who? It could be anyone," Jūgo remarked, not letting go of the calm that always flooded him when Nature was kind to the forest.

"No," Zabuza said and put his hand on Haku's head. The child looked up towards the taller man. A look of adoration hovered over his innocent eyes—a look that did not miss Sasuke's gaze. He pitied him. His resolve to kill them was beginning to crumble under the innocence of the young child: a child who needed and deserved the mercy and love of a parent, a love he was deprived of in his own childhood.

Sasuke's grip slackened on the hilt of his own sword. He was torn: on one hand, it would be beneficial to kill them, bury the secret in the depths of the forest. The rain would wash away his sin like before. On the other hand, those guiltless eyes were eating away at him, pleading before him to let it live, let it taste the life it wanted. He kept intently looking at Haku, feeling his innocent face smother the intense hell fire rising without mercy in his eyes. After a moment's struggle, he lost and let out a breathy, defeated sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment to accept his decision and quelled the Sharingan's pattern that was meant only for his vengeance.

"Kisame was one of the top five Elite members. Even if he knew, he wouldn't tell me. It's quite possible that only the top members of the Elite Squad knew. Not everyone is privy to all the information. The Squad had tiers, just like you guessed. I was just an underling," Zabuza explained, and his eyes scanned Sasuke's hard face that was impossible to read.

"Who led the Tulip Squad?" Sasuke asked, and his mind burrowed under the large pile of memories. Even if this information was valuable, it had countless holes to fill. It would take another lifetime to connect all the dots, merge all the threads together to make this mysterious cobweb whole. And that was the time no man possessed.

"I don't know. Only four members knew who the person was, and Kisame was the only one I knew of. He never told me . . . and now he's dead," Zabuza whispered, looking cautious as if the forest had eyes and ears, and if his secrets wafted to its core, it would snuff out his life all by itself.

"Sasuke, I'm getting a bad feeling about this. The rogues Mei asked us to take care of—" Jugo broke off and looked down at Sasuke's face that still did not let any emotion disturb his features.

"The remaining second-tier members in the Tulip Squad," Sasuke said in a low voice, sweeping his gaze around the area. "She knows—why do I get the feeling she was a part of the Squad?"

"She's eliminatin' competition. Maybe the previous Mizukage left her with the task. I always knew somethin' was off about that broad. Sasuke, what do ya want us ta do? Should I kill 'em right now? Ya gotta remain in her good books if ya want somethin' outta that two-faced slut," Suigetsu said and pulled out the sword from the muddy ground.

"Put that sword away," Sasuke said and raised his hand. His words automatically brought a veil of calm on Haku's young face that bore the fleeting signs of mortal fear only a moment ago.

"Are ya sure? I don't want ta kill the kid, but it can't be helped. He's one of the Squad members and now they know too much about us—about ya. What if it's just a game and she's testin' ya? Knowin' that yuis onto her, who knows what that whore would do," Suigetsu said in an honest manner, not lowering his sword raised at the two ninjas.

"I'm sure. We can just show the guards that I burnt two rogues here. This could prove to be advantageous," Sasuke said and turned his gaze to look at Zabuza's face. His visage of control was mildly cracked. He knew he would not be able to take Sasuke on, and that fear was starting to reveal itself on his brow. "What else do you have on you? Surely, this isn't all Kisame left as his classy last words of farewell."

Zabuza remained quiet for a few seconds, weighing his chances and possibilities to make it out of here alive—both of them were slim. "I guess I really have to take a leap of faith," he said in a voice that sounded aged and defeated. "Someone from the Hyūga Head family was involved in the bartering of tools and Jutsus. I didn't know it involved Byakugans, but you figured it out yourself. Kisame told me before he left. He knew his days were numbered."

"In exchange for what?" Sasuke asked and lifted his eyes slightly to look at the darkness gathering in the clouds. Sun was completely hidden now—the sky, grey and angry.

"Payment for the Tulip Squad's elite," Zabuza said, his harsh voice ringing in Sasuke's ears with the single realization that stung his soul as though it had been pinned to the ground in the depths of yomi: Konoha paid Mist to do something that resulted in his parents' deaths? But what? Surely, six Byakugans were not enough to topple the entire Police Force? No, this did not feel right; the payment was too meagre for such a big task. What was Mist hiding?

"Sasuke, what're you thinking?" Jūgo asked in a kind voice and laid his hefty hand on Sasuke's wet shoulder. "You have to make a decision quickly. The bird that came back just now told me that Mei's guards are coming this way. You know one of them is a sensor and Ao has Byakugan. These two will get spotted from a kilometre away." He lifted his hand and grabbed that bird gently. Then he put it into his pocket and stroked its small head with his thumb.

"I would need proof of this claim. The scroll you have in your pocket—no need to hide it for another bidder. Hand it over to Suigetsu when you reach the border," Sasuke paused and tilted his head to look at Suigetsu and Jūgo, "take them to the border. Karin has made arrangements. Four of her family members would be waiting there."

"What will ya tell those slobberin' bitches? The border ain't exactly five minutes away. It'll take us a few hours ta get back," Suigetsu asked and took a few steps towards Zabuza and Haku.

"You can let me worry about that. Do as I say," Sasuke said and took his sword out and traced a fine line into the muddy ground.

"Okay, boss. I hope ya know what you're doin'," Suigetsu said and pushed his sword back into its massive sheath. "Ya heard the boss. Let's go." Within a second, all of them disappeared from view.

Sasuke blinked and inhaled sharply. Using Amaterasu now would take a lot of chakra from him. He would not be able to see properly for quite some time, and his left eye would be rendered blind for two whole days. Even the soldier pills he brought with himself would not replenish his chakra properly. But it had to be done. The heat from the black flames would burn all the residual chakra in the area, and the powerful chakra would confuse Chōjūrō's sensing and Ao's Byakugan.

He took in a deep breath. Amaterasu was always dangerous, and if Mei really _had_ played him, then it was a risky move. If more ninjas showed up, he would be too disorientated to dispatch them quickly. He remained silent, his eyes closed as he kept thinking about Mist's game. Time was slipping through his fingers like water.

The chakra kneading was done. He could feel the heat rise around him in spirals. When he opened his eyes, bloody tears poured out of his left eye. His vision focused on the grass by his feet that still bore the marks of Haku's and Zabuza's sandals. A massive black flame suddenly converged on the point: it sizzled and burnt, consuming all chakra and burning all Natural Energy within the area. Jūgo would not be able to consume it from here for a while.

The fire was scorching hot. Even its residual black flames felt hot as if burning on his skin. Sasuke jumped back but tripped, unable to remain on his two feet. He fell forward, bracing himself on his elbows. His head hung down a little to the right; he breathed heavily and looked through his blurry vision at the sweat drops falling down from the sharp tip of his nose. He moved his trembling hands, and with the last dregs of strength left inside him, placed them firmly on the ground and pushed himself up.

His legs shook; Amaterasu had eaten through his strength. The light in his left eye slowly began to fail him. An impenetrable darkness fell upon it, and suddenly, he could see nothing to his left. His right eye was so blurry as if rainwater stood in it. His murky vision made it difficult for him to make out the shapes of trees properly. Sasuke slapped his hand over his left eye when a searing pain exploded in his head as he peered through the haziness of his own vision to look at the flames as they grew taller, touching the branches above. At this rate, the wall of flames between himself and the forest would spread.

Sasuke focused his right eye and smothered the black chakra rising like something unquenchable from the depths of hell. He halted it in its path just in time. The flames' heat was still unbearable, but his Sharingan did not fool him—all of the chakra in the area was gone. Even its haziness did not stop it from detecting the last bits of his own chakra disappearing when it was touched by Amaterasu's heat.

He stood silent and took one soldier-pill to ease his pain and replenish a bit of his chakra. A few moments passed when Chōjūrō and Ao landed behind him. They had bewildered expressions on their rain whipped faces as their gazes fell upon the black flames contained within a small area by Sasuke. "So this is the powerful chakra I sensed!" Chōjūrō remarked in awe and touched his glasses.

Sasuke did not move to look at them. He knew Ao already had his Byakugan out to search the area. He would be disappointed. With his head bent, Sasuke relished this moment of amusement. "I can't see any chakra for two kilometres," Ao said, hiding a bit of resentment in his voice as he was not the true owner to exploit the eye to his heart's content. Despite being from the branch family, Neji could see anything within a ten-kilometre radius in every direction. And with proper training, Hinata's vision would grant her the same power.

Sasuke's upper lip trembled and turned that curl of amusement into a curl of contempt. He quickly masked his expression, raised his head, and put the sword back into its sheath. Now was not the time to use it. There would be another time when he would let it feed on their blood and develop a soul. "I didn't know you would be alone, Sasuke-Sama. Weren't you supposed to bring along two other members?" Ao asked cautiously and kept his distance as if the other man was ready to strike him down.

"Don't touch the flames. It would leave more than just a mild burn," Sasuke warned and turned his head to look at Chōjūrō who was about to let his curiosity get the better of him. He immediately pulled his hand back and puffed at his palm. It felt as though something had burnt it. "They went ahead to check the borders—just in case if one of the rogues slipped past us along the way."

"But these black flames—" Chōjūrō stopped, still in the grip of wonder. This was the first time he had seen Amaterasu.

"I caught two here and burnt them. They were about to blow us all up. Normally, I don't even use it, but the situation called for it," Sasuke explained and tried to keep his functioning eye focused—everything seemed to swim before him.

"Let's check out the border, then. We can—"

"Why, you don't trust me?" Sasuke sharply cut Ao off, meeting his confused eyes. Half of his face was severely wrinkled by Byakugan's activation. Hyūga's prized genetic possession really was not his game.

"I-I didn't mean that, Sasuke-Sama. Please, forgive me," Ao paused and cleared his throat, "I meant to say that it wouldn't hurt to double-check."

Sasuke let out a soft laugh. "My ninjas are more capable than you two. You're welcome to waste your time, but you certainly won't waste mine. I'm heading north as we all agreed upon to meet up with Nii-Sama. You can carry out your fool's errand," he said in a deep voice and used Body-Flicker to instantly increase the distance between them by sixty meters. He stood on a thick tree bark for a second to scan his surrounds, and then he vanished.

"I don't sense anything, and Suigetsu-San and Jūgo are no ordinary ninjas," Chōjūrō said and reached his hand to his back to curl his fingers around the hilt of his massive sword. "He's right—we'll only waste time here. Mei-Sama would be so angry if even a single one escaped."

"Suigetsu . . . that traitor," Ao spoke in a venomous voice. "He can't be trusted."

"His family migrated to Rain when his brother was just a child. The Hōzuki clan hasn't been a part of Mist for six generations. His father was only commissioned there for a mission, and Yagura-Sama got him killed after it was done. He allowed his family to leave afterwards. The secret is buried. I don't see why you're still sour over it," Chōjūrō said in a small measured voice, clenching the hilt tightly in his hand.

"He's been doing missions for this Uchiha from Rain. Do you really think he's _that_ innocent?" Ao asked, raising his voice as the wind hissed close to their ears. He turned around to face the younger man who was a few inches shorter than he.

"All ninjas from Rain do missions as hired hands for many villages. You know how poor that village is. His older brother—what was his name? Yeah, Mangetsu! You know what happened to him? He got killed in one of them. His mother died a long time ago. He's the last surviving member of his family. Why does it even matter?" Chōjūrō asked and pulled his hand down. He glared from behind his glasses at the taller man. The conversation was going nowhere.

"His brother knew Kisame and what he was up to. All those rumours hit a dead-end when Mangetsu died. And Kisame? We don't even know where he is. That snake—" Ao hissed out the last words.

Chōjūrō kicked a small stone lying by his feet at the tree on the right. "As long as people believe those rumours to be true that's all that matters. And you need to let go of Suigetsu just because he turned down Mist's mission from you. He's a citizen of Konoha now. Sasuke finalized his Fire Country citizenship about a week ago through his brother, Itachi. He's the Anbu-Captain these days. Don't forget that. He isn't exactly some small-fish. You want to get us all into trouble with the Uchiha Clan now?" he asked and looked around. His sensing was not turned off.

"Of course not! I'm just worried about Kisame. This Sasuke, he's clever. If he finds out about something through Suigetsu—I can't even imagine what will happen," Ao said and moved his gaze. When he saw all was clear, he turned off his Byakugan and relaxed the tense muscles around his eye.

"Are you still going on about this? You paranoid old geezer. Mei-Sama is personally looking into Kisame. He'll be found sooner or later. She said she's found some solid leads. And if Suigetsu was somehow involved, we would've found something by now," Chōjūrō accused, keeping his tone flat.

"Sometimes, paranoia is what keeps us alive. You're probably too young to realize that," Ao said lowly and rubbed his eye. Using Byakugan for so long had taken its toll on him. He could not use the Clan's _Kekkei-Genkai_ Taijutsu techniques as he lacked their blood, but this eye was useful for sensing.

"And you're probably too old to let go of it," Chōjūrō returned and turned around. He could not sense Sasuke's chakra because of the black flames, but he knew where the rendezvous point was. He gathered massive chakra into his legs, jumped up, and landed on a bark some forty feet above the ground. He looked down and adjusted his glasses. "I'm going, and if you know what's good for the mission, you'll follow me, too." Then he disappeared north, leaving Ao alone in the clearing.

Ao turned his head and tried to peer through the wall of angry flames, but without Byakugan, it was hopeless! The rain turned to steam several feet above the flames. His mind went blank. Following Suigetsu and Jūgo now was a foolish idea. The seals the Elite learnt had sealed the tongues of many members, but Kisame had found a way around it somehow. There was a chance that some of the members had removed them.

The secrets they would divulge . . . it could become a deadly noose for the higher-ups, including Mei. Ao and Mei knew that asking the Uchiha brothers to dispatch the lower-tier members was a risky move; but it was not like the underlings knew anything. Even if they sought sanctuary, Root would take care of them. They had to be taken care of so that Kisame would never be able to find any solace—hunted down with nowhere to hide, he would come out of his hole soon enough. It was also a well-placed trap, and they did not know whether the prized-prey had noticed it or not.

Mei wanted to gain the Clan's trust to find Kisame. It was a race against time, but somehow, his mind kept going back to Suigetsu. That executioner blade was once wielded by Zabuza. He disappeared with a child five years ago and sold off all his belongings to peddlers on the borders near Rain. Suigetsu could have bought it off the black market, but there were too many coincidences.

Ao did not let the thoughts plague him any longer. The mission took priority. He knew that as one of the Elite Five. He cast one last glance at the roiling flames that were as black as a haunting, starless night and ran after Chōjūrō. Suigetsu would have to wait . . .

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	18. Brothers and Dancing Visions

**Chapter Eighteen** : Brothers and Dancing Visions

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The storm abated; night had fallen hours ago over the forest that hastily began to throw away the blanket of quiet, bursting with life. Crickets chirped noisily in the overgrown grass as they dug their way out of the muddy ground, and a night owl with its yellow eyes gleaming trilled and hooted overhead. The light rain beating against the foliage barely made it to his face—its path was broken by a thick knot of branches that still seemed to have mysteriously kept their green lush leaves despite the brutal arrival of autumn winds.

Sasuke looked over his shoulder; his eyes slid from Chōjūrō eyes, misty behind the fogged spectacles perched on his thin nose, to Ao's tense face and his lowered eyes that still bore signs of accusation. He did not really care. They did not have anything to lay on Suigetsu. He was free and safely under his wing, and they knew they would be sorry the second they decided to threaten the Uchiha clan. The Uchihas were the famous daemons: it was good to play with them, but they never made good enemies.

A ghost of a smile broke Sasuke's tense features, but it slid from his face just as quickly. His vision swam under the steady drops of rainwater and the self-inflicted haze on his eyes. Amaterasu was a cruel mistress, but his eyes did not need their vast field of vision to tell him that dawn was breaking across the horizon. A splash of red hue was spreading across the far end of the sombre sky, tearing away the clouds that now threads of yellow were beginning to race down to the ground.

Sasuke screwed up his eyes against the shaft of light that descended on his face. He knew it then: it was morning and Suigetsu and Jūgo still had not made it back. Absentmindedly, he whistled and a small snowy hawk, dappled with greyish spots, landed on his stretched hand. That was enough to capture Ao and Chōjūrō's interest. Chōjūrō adjusted his glasses—a perfunctory habit Karin seemed to have, too. His face was inquisitive, his features breaking into a small, curious smile at the sight of the bird. Ao looked tense, not letting go of the fact that they could have checked the borders themselves.

"Is . . . is that a hawk?" Chōjūrō asked in an awed voice and made his way towards Sasuke. He stopped only a few inches short of him and stretched his finger taut that got nipped painfully. He hissed and wagged his hand in the air. His face had yet to let go of that innocent curiosity that was beginning to irritate the hell out of Sasuke. "These small ones are so rare!" he spoke with a curious expression on his young face, bending his head so low that it looked as though he was bowing before Sasuke.

Sasuke did not say anything and pulled out a small scroll from his jacket's pocket and tied it around Kirin's leg. He had written everything he needed to in a code only he and his brother understood. It was a brief message, but he was content that, if Itachi had not killed all of the rogue ninjas, he should be able to find one hiding away somewhere. He gave his arm a slight sharp jerk and the bird disappeared to the north.

Chōjūrō, who was still bent in an awkward pose before him, craned his neck and adjusted his glasses awkwardly. "You sent this to Itachi-Sama? Aren't we heading in that direction ourselves? Was it—"

"This is a mission, not a fool's errand," Sasuke curtly cut across him, bringing out a blank expression on Chōjūrō's face. "I _have_ to know how things are going at Nii-Sama's end and that he's safe. He's brought a trainee ninja with himself from my team. I had no idea the mess you people invited us to. She wasn't trained for this—I never should've let her come."

An uneasy expression flickered across Chōjūrō's face, but he quickly composed himself and fingered the frame of his glasses. "We had no idea they recruited more thugs," Chōjūrō spoke in a calm voice and roved his eyes over to the vast forest up north; he was kneading chakra for _Sensing_.

Sasuke frowned, unconvinced. He wanted to get something, anything out of him. "You mean you had no idea they had created an army? I killed twenty myself—twenty-two if you count the last two I burnt. What's your Mizukage playing at? I don't like games," he rasped, voice rough, and bent his head a little to glare down at the shorter man.

Chōjūrō opened his mouth to speak when Ao intervened, "we had no idea about this as well, Sasuke-Sama," he paused, saying the honorific with such difficulty that it sounded as if he had choked on it, "we were in the dark—in the same boat as you. Mizukage was tipped off by our spies in Rain. They never told us they had built an army. They probably had a hide-out somewhere close to the borders where they carried out their operations." He stood up from his dirty perch that was a toppled over tree covered with moss growing on the sides. The side of his blue robes was caked with mud.

"Your Intelligence division's so well-informed and on top of things that, lucky for the thugs, we never found that hide-out," Sasuke said, keeping a note of sardonic pleasure in his voice. His lips curled in an exquisite sneer. The look seemed to have frozen on his face, and he took pleasure in watching a pink colour of humiliation rise high in Ao's pale cheeks—he had looked away.

"You have a good point, Sasuke-Sama," Chōjūrō spoke in a fake, simpering voice; he was the cleverer of the two. "But that's why we brought you and your brother along. We knew we needed help. I think a little pat on the back is in order for our simple-minded thinking, too—don't you agree?" He let out a small laugh and folded his arms on his chest. His expression remained untouched by Sasuke's humiliating words.

Sasuke narrowed his eyes and looked at him for a few fleeting seconds, taking in the blankness of his face. He was probably sent to keep an eye on Sasuke, and the two ninjas from Mist were sent to make sure his brother did not do anything unsavoury. They must have met up with Itachi by now . . .

A feeling of pure loathing rose in him that his brother was being spied on by filth from Mist. He was impressed with himself that the realization did not break the surface of his calm, and Chōjūrō did not feel the heat of it on his skin. Despite his ready-made smiles and fake masks, sometimes, his short-temper got the better of him. With time and arts of imitations, his skin grew more thick and more elastic—ready and pliant to create a moody expression that almost never betrayed him. Yes, he impressed himself today. _Such a child!_

Slowly, he turned away without saying anything. His ears wriggled and Chōjūrō's eyes widened with a realization, but he did not move. A few seconds later, Suigetsu landed with Jūgo close to Ao who staggered back, nearly tripping over his feet in the slippery mud; he was still sulking rather pathetically.

Suigetsu's smile widened as his eyes fell on Ao's face. "Hello, Ao. Watchya doin' in this part of the forest? I heard it gets dangerous at night." He widened his eyes, feigning fear. Ao's cheeks burnt red. "Time to stick yor head into the mud. The dirty spies'll just slap those plump buttocks, thinkin' that yor a broad. They don't exactly carry that Mist male-bum stiffness to 'em. The thugs'll pass right by ya—after a good gropin'. I guarantee!" he ended that with a loud dramatic sigh and slammed his fist against his breast.

Chōjūrō had an urge to let out a loud laugh, but he turned away with a chuckle. Ao grit his teeth and clenched his trembling, cold-bitten fingers into two mighty knuckles. He looked murderous. Suigetsu opened his mouth to say something more, but Sasuke spoke first, "Suigetsu, knock it off."

"A'right, a'right," Suigetsu said and made a regal gesture at Ao with such an airy grace that even Sasuke could not help let slip a small smile. He marched to him with that same mischievous grin on his face; Sasuke could not remember any moment he saw him without it. "Look at ya, all wet, hot, and bothered—bet the thirsty bitches would love that." He winked and leant against the tree. Behind him, Jūgo looked around, and almost magically, several colourful birds swooped down and landed on his shoulders. They sat there and tittered without a care in the world.

The wink and Suigetsu's jokey remarks meant that the job was well-done. Sasuke leant his head down and started looking at the tiny buds of flowers just opening up to catch the morning light. "Did you find anything around the border? Any sign of the rogues?" Sasuke asked, his murky eyes flickering from Chōjūrō's curious face to Suigetsu's.

"Nope. Would've told ya if I found any, boss. So—" he broke off and rounded on Chōjūrō, who was looking shrewdly at Sasuke's stone-cold indifferent face, "how long's this bullshit gonna last? I'm kinda tired. How much is he payin' us anyway?" He looked over to Sasuke.

Sasuke's gaze drifted slightly towards Chōjūrō before he brought it back to Suigetsu. "They'll pay as much as the task required," he said grimly with an air of finality. He saw Chōjūrō open his mouth to say something; he looked at Ao for support rather sheepishly and then closed his mouth when he found him still sulking by the tree, with his back to the rest.

"Well, that settles it." Suigetsu yawned and raised his arms to stretch. "Was just tellin' Jūgo that he needs ta get some real birds, but he didn't get what I—" he stopped, his hands still up in the air as a loud blast up north shook the whole area. A massive shockwave blew against their faces. Ao, who was cursing Sasuke under his breath, came rushing forward with his Byakugan on—it failed him again, unable to cross the barrier of distance his eye could not pass.

Colour drained from Sasuke's face. With that mask of control unconsciously thrown away, his features collapsed into a look of absolute shock and terror, his eyes bulging and his mouth opening wide as if he was about to let out a loud scream. Sweat burst from his every pore, and his heart pumped blood so fast that it ached. His face trembled, and his eyes turned a little misty as he took one step and shouted, "Nii-Sama!" Then he vanished, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

"Sasuke, wait!" Suigetsu shouted behind him. He exchanged a look of fear with Jūgo whose shoulders were empty—the birds had left their perch in a frenzy of terror. They did not stick around and chased after him, leaving Ao and Chōjūrō behind.

"That was the meeting place," Chōjūrō said, his face giving the look of a tired, gaunt man. "This is bad. If those ninjas killed Itachi—"

"Itachi's good. He won't die that easily," he assured, not turning off his Byakugan. "There's no use sticking around. If he lived and caught one—I don't even want to think about it. Come on!" Chōjūrō nodded in agreement, and they both left for North where a steady pile of smog was rising up into the air, breaking apart the pearly streams of droplets.

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Hinata sat with her eyes downcast, her fingers knotted on her lap. Only a couple of minutes had passed since they evaded the blast when a Mist ninja appeared at the rendezvous point. He told Itachi that he was sent to assist them. Itachi did not look happy as, despite the cool expression, he could not quite suppress a breath of disapproval. The four ninjas Itachi had sent out dragged a rogue ninja into the clearing. He had been hiding it out to give them a slip with a couple of chakra bombs, which he kept throwing out after every ten minutes. It was a miracle they did not spot him earlier; Itachi thought that the guy was _such_ a fool.

The Mist ninja wanted to kill him, but Itachi stopped him on grounds of interrogation. Now he sat on the ground, tied to a thick tree. His eyes were downcast, and he looked like a defeated man. Hinata did not know what to think. She sat quietly under the nearly bare branches of a tall tree. The rain had stopped, and now, a gentle wind whistled in her ears. But she was thinking, ignoring the stray drops that fell on her cheeks. She could have been killed. The thrill of the moment had passed, and then it occurred to her: Sasuke sent her out, an untrained ninja, on such a dangerous mission? She felt a surge of resentment towards him, and her chest heaved rapidly with emotion.

He had sent Kirin moments before their encounter with the rogues. Now it sat happily in Itachi's front pocket; it moved its tiny head rapidly from left to right. Itachi sat down next to her, a touch of weariness on his cold face. He looked out into the distance as if daydreaming and suddenly spoke, "family . . . we need them and they rely on us, do they not?"

Hinata did not say anything. She bent forward and fingered the ground. There was nothing she could have said. She wanted him to talk about anything else, but to her disappointment, he resumed the subject that was foreign to her. "There is a monster in all of us," he whispered, his voice low as if he was hissing, "is it not?"

She sat upright, and her white eyes stared back into his that held such depths and darkness she had never seen before that, for the tiniest moment, her body quivered with a delicious sensation of fear. She still did not answer him and bent her gaze ever so slightly to stop him from looking into her secrets. He continued, "it is wise to accept the monsters in us, in others, and learn to embrace them—perhaps in an attempt to bring them to light."

Hinata's lip quivered, and she blinked back a few tears. "You don't know anything about my monsters," she said as her voice quaked with emotion. She hated this weakness, but the woman in her was weak.

"I do not have to and I do not need to," Itachi said in a smooth voice and got to his feet. "But it is wise to look deep within ourselves and others, as well. You will then find that some of those monsters are just innocent daemons that need to be loved and tamed. Do not set everything free and do not try to embrace those that do not belong to you. You will only make things worse for yourself. We all do not enjoy relinquishing the things we cherish."

Itachi cast one appraising glance her way and walked away. _Is he talking about Sasuke?_ she thought fearfully. Her face trembled and threatened to reveal her weakness, but she composed her face into a look of mild sadness. Not a few moments passed when Sasuke landed into the clearing. Hinata leapt to her feet, her heart racing. He had abandoned her with his brother. Did he even care? She took one step but drew up short at the sight of his dishevelled appearance: his eyes were red and swollen as if he had been crying.

His breath was ragged as he took one step, taking in Itachi's appearance and, from his dry lips, whispering his name that floated to Hinata's ears. Itachi moved closer and stretched his right arm as though to catch his brother who looked on the verge of despair. His right hand reached around to grasp the back of Sasuke's head. "Sasuke, I am all right," he assured him when Sasuke said nothing. "You worry so much. Look, I caught one for interrogation." He smiled at Sasuke, meeting his eyes that changed patterns.

The world slowed down in Sasuke's vision. He shrunk in size and landed in Itachi's lap with the same origami bird in his hand, his heart racing as fast as the thousands of crows beating their wings around him—their sounds drowning out his hurried breaths. Fearfully, he looked up at Itachi smiling down at him. "I don't want to talk to you like this," Sasuke said and listened to his own small voice bounce back at him.

"No?" Itachi asked, feigning surprise. His voice sounded a lot softer than usual. "I've always found the idea of such a change . . . pleasant."

Sasuke blinked and the next moment he stood facing Itachi in his current form. Black ink drops plopped into the grey around him, and within seconds, they metamorphosed into crows. They beat their wings fiercely and flew away to the edge of the dream-world before they melted into the veils—to become the fabric of Itachi's illusions. A cold shiver ran down Sasuke's spine; this place always felt strange to him. It brought out a childish fear inside him that he could never deny.

"I'm glad you are all right, Nii-Sama. If something had happened to you, I don't know what I . . . " his voice trailed off, and he lowered his head to hide his anguish, not looking into his brother's eyes.

"You know I have never enjoyed disappointing you . . . look, I have kept a gift for your distress," he said with a faint smile on his face. A few crows landed on his shoulders and few chose to find comfort by his feet. They cawed together, their noisy language echoing all around him. Sasuke narrowed his eyes as they watered against the noise. "Silence," Itachi let out a whisper that carried itself smoothly to Sasuke and dead silence fell all over.

The crows opened and closed their beaks but nothing came out; their calls had been silenced, their sounds muted in the dark and grey painted-world, in which he stood with his older brother—fearfully. "Is he one of the rogues?" Sasuke asked and looked around warily. This place . . . it always looked ghastly.

"Yes. I would have killed him after interrogation, but you told me to keep him alive," Itachi said and walked to Sasuke. "Did you find something?"

Sasuke took in a deep intake of breath and told Itachi about the Tulip Squad, hiding what he needed to hide. His brother remained quiet and then spoke into the silence, breaking it as though a sword cleaving the wind's delicate fabric in two, "I have not interrogated him, but he would not know anything. They probably left the grunt-work for us—a little humiliating." He sighed afterwards and put his hand to the side of his face.

"I'll make her pay. Who does she think she is? Sending men to spy on us and thinking that she tricked us into doing her dirty work?" Sasuke spat at the empty air as if he was looking at her.

Itachi pulled down his hand. "Do not be rash, Sasuke," he paused and put his hand on Sasuke's untidy hair that had been made even more untidy by this long haul without any rest. "Perhaps you are right and she did all this to test us. I will look into this Squad matter to ease your worries. I know I will not find anything, but we do not have anything to lose."

"I can always draw out the culprit. It's a snake in my team. I know it," Sasuke rumbled and narrowed his eyes at the shadows, hoping that the culprit would jump out from their midst.

"We will find him—do not worry," Itachi said in a low voice—his red eyes glinted with an emotion. Then it vanished from his eyes, and he ruffled Sasuke's hair affectionately. The illusion ended before Sasuke could draw in another breath.

Sasuke felt the tingling sensation of the cool wind on his skin. The sun greeted his eyes in reality. He inhaled sharply and let out a loud sigh. Then he turned his eyes and stopped them on Hinata. His gaze lingered on her for a few moments and watched as she turned pink in the face, then he looked away as the rest of his team landed into the clearing, followed by Chōjūrō and Ao right at their heels.

"We heard—Sasuke you—" Suigetsu blurted out as he struggled to regain his breath. These two trips had taken out a lot of his moisture.

"I'm fine. Some rogues tried to kill Nii-Sama. They're dead, of course," Sasuke said in a proud voice and ran his thin finger along his lips. He turned his eyes to the Mist guards. "Why are you two here? The mission is over."

"The Mist rogue," Chōjūrō began and pointed his hand at the tired man still under Sharingan's Genjutsu, "we'll take him off your hands."

"Yah, buddy, I don't think so!" Suigetsu snorted and whipped out his bottle from that fanny pack dangling over his buttocks.

"That's not up to—" Ao began in a heated voice but stopped when Itachi raised his hand to silence him.

"You lied to us and used our valuable time to do your work. I have a Hokage to answer to. I suggest you do not argue as this is standard protocol under unauthorized missions," Itachi explained and stood close to Sasuke.

Ao tried to speak again but Chōjūrō cut across him, "we understand—but with all due respect, Itachi-Sama, we can't allow you to keep him forever. I believe forty-eight hours is a suitable time to deal with this matter. Am I right?" He smiled that fake smile of his that Sasuke was beginning to loathe.

"You will kill him before you reach your borders. I am not sure why this lowly grunt is so important to you," he stopped and cast a curious glance at the deathly quiet prisoner, "regardless, you will get the prisoner after he has been dealt with accordingly—dead or alive." Then he said no more and turned on his heel to walk away from them.

Sasuke obediently followed his brother, with the sniggering Suigetsu and the ever-quiet Jūgo in his wake. Hinata kept staring at the Mist ninjas, and she could have sworn that Chōjūrō could not mask that sour expression scurrying across his face . . .

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	19. A Grave Error

**Chapter Nineteen** : A Grave Error

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Shadows slanted awkwardly in the dimly lit room. A chink in the tiny window in back of a large table let in the moonlight, which lost the battle against the steadily advancing darkness too soon. The scribbling and scratching sounds of the wooden pen on the thick scroll were bouncing off the walls, magnified in silence. There stood three figures in the room: one with hands clasped behind his back, one with a steel-straight spine, arms hung almost stiff by his side, and one with fingers knotted like a clumsy rope-knot in front. Their shadows stretched out in front of them—much taller and bigger than themselves as the candle behind them, sitting on an unusually small table, flickered in a sudden draft of cool wind.

The scribbling stopped, and the beautiful woman sitting comfortably in the chair that ruled leaf lifted her brown eyes, narrowing them slightly to gaze at the tall men whose faces were hidden behind the masks of shadows. She dipped the wooden pen into the black ink bottle and began to roll up the scroll. The ink had dried out on it just a few moments ago.

She inhaled a little loudly, as if to grasp their attention, and put the rolled scroll aside. "Very rash, Itachi," she paused and moved her eyes slightly to look at the younger brother hidden safely behind the tricks of darkness and night. "Sasuke is a _very_ young Captain, but you accepted a mission just because Mizukage requested it of him? I did not expect this from you. He should have been reproached by you for taking it up—yet you backed him despite being his superior? I am disappointed in you."

Sasuke did not intervene and stood straight, waiting for his brother to speak. "They tricked us," Itachi started with a deep sigh, "it was a simple B-Rank mission, and Sasuke asked for my authorization. I checked the details and authorized it. He only had to dispatch a few rogue-Shinobis in the area. He did not require my help, but he asked for it to train a new recruit. She was to stay behind me at all times and acquire field experience. I can assure you that we, or rather, Sasuke, had to intention to conduct an S-Rank mission without your approval."

Her brown eyes deepened into a magnificent colour of a burnished axinite when a thin line of smoke from the candle on her desk rose between their gazes. "Words from a coddling brother . . . how much weight do they carry?" Tsunade asked and her face split into a meaningful smile.

Itachi was quiet; a look of calm remained plastered to his face like a new skin on a snake. Something menacing glinted in his eyes, but it died away suddenly, and behind the thick band of shadow on his face, she could not quite catch it fast enough to recognize its intensity. Beside him, Sasuke's blank face remained untouched like a skilled chameleon that was trying its hardest to take on its brother's colour; he was successful—for now.

"You don't honestly expect me to believe that, do you, Itachi? It seems that you are covering for your brother again, who," she broke off, placed her hands on the table, and directed the heavy gaze of her warm brown eyes upon Sasuke, "seldom pays any heed to what I have to say and has a high disdain for authority."

"Whatever happened in regards to my complaints against your student has nothing to do with Nii-Sama. You should—"

"Sasuke, stay quiet," Itachi cut across him and Sasuke fell silent. He took a step forward and appeared out of the grasp of shadows as if a thick black smoke had dispersed to reveal him. "This is neither fair, nor just. What good will come out of this accusation? Why would Sasuke take an S-Rank mission from a ruler of another village? Where are you steering a simple matter of misinformation?" he asked, tilting his head slightly as if he was straining to get a good look at her face obscured behind smoke, his eyes red and ominous, devoid of emotion and so frightening in nature.

Tsunade kept looking into his eyes, and as though their intensity hurt her, she dropped them to look at the scroll. All the words had dried and appeared like twisted and broken hair to create a scroll full of words. "This is standard inquiry—not something you are unaccustomed to," she said and moved the scrolls around to busy herself. "I'm not sure why you're so surprised."

"Your questions present more than an element of surprise. I am simply trying to clear my name and my brother's. If it concerns you that much, then I will visit the Mizukage personally and demand a letter of apology for her unbecoming and unprofessional behaviour. She did try to fool us," he said in such a calm voice that it forcefully seduced Tsunade's eyes to look up at him. The red in his eyes was gone . . . Sasuke was a something he guarded ruthlessly like a greedy serpent, she thought.

"Fooled _you_?" she asked incredulously, stressing upon the final word.

"Yes, I am afraid. Though I am not sure if she is very wise . . . or very foolish," Itachi said, lowering his voice to a mere whisper.

"Perhaps you should grade and gauge Kages. You seem to have a knack for criticism," Tsunade taunted as a look of mild anger came into her fair face.

"I did not know rulers were Kami. I always thought they were lucky people from amongst us who win the chair's favour either through cunning, wile, or sometimes, talent," he said and looked to her with a hard-as-stone face that no emotion was powerful enough to break. "But common folk like us are too simple-minded to guess these mechanics, I suppose. I do not think I am clever enough to see through these threads of man-made fates—foolishness courses through a common man's blood, after all."

Tsunade's red lips were pressed into a thin line, anger etched into every thin line that appeared on her forehead. She chose not to press this matter any further. Itachi was always difficult to deal with. He was cunning, too cunning, to read, direct, and control. He always exuded a strange aura. He was dangerous.

"This report is unsatisfactory. I hope you have a damn good reason to keep that Mist Missing-Nin," she hissed through clenched teeth and chose not to meet Itachi's hard gaze boring into her mind; it ruffled the threads of her thoughts and picked them apart one by one. Sometimes, she thought he frightened her.

"The report in your hand is incomplete. I will add more details when I interrogate him," he said with no change in the flat tone of his voice. "They would not have tried to trick us if it was a simple matter of a few Missing-Nins. They had created a small army. Hinata is lucky to be alive," he added, not turning to look at Hinata standing still next to Sasuke with hunched shoulders and a bent head.

Tsunade shifted in her chair a little and bent her gaze on Hinata. She looked pale in the light of the candle, so pale that she was giving off a pearly glow in the orange light of the tall candle. There were shadows under her eyes, and her black fringes curtained them to hide her emotions.

"Itachi told me you performed well, Hinata," Tsunade said, stood up, and pushed the heavy chair back.

Hinata's head jerked up as if someone had forcefully yanked at her hair. She enclosed her right hand on her left wrist and looked at Sasuke out of the corner of her eyes. Darkness clung to him—a leech above his lips. She could not see his eyes or the rest of his face. She brought her gaze back to Tsunade but said nothing.

"For someone who has been out of training for so long, I'm surprised you handled a Jōnin on your own. Your father must be proud," Tsunade said in a warm voice and walked around the edge of the table.

Hinata opened her mouth to say something but lost her voice—she knew her father did not care. She wavered a little as if on the edge of speech but remained silent. "Sasuke you—" she began by leaning against the table; it was large and bulky, taller than her hips; she probably placed a few cushions underneath her buttocks to raise herself to a proper height, "your report is absent on Hinata. Why?"

"The rogue matter and the prisoner in Nii-Sama's custody were more pressing matters. I didn't think it was necessary to make a report without talking to my subordinate first," Sasuke said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.

"You don't get to decide which reports take precedence. Hinata is your subordinate, and her performance against a Jōnin, I believe, is—"

"Had Nii-Sama not thrown a shuriken in that rogue's spine by making it ricochet off the trees, she would've been beheaded on the first swipe. It affected his reflexes and he missed repeatedly because of his injury. As Nii-Sama said, she's lucky to be alive," he said without removing his gaze from Tsunade's face that appeared to show a hint of anger.

"And you didn't think that required a report?" she asked as if shocked by his blunt response. Her gaze slightly drifted to Hinata and saw a bright colour of shame flood her cheeks.

"I just got here. I need a little time to talk to her and get a few details. I'm not a magician," he said in a quiet, thoughtful voice, not getting bothered by Tsunade's face that crumpled up with rage.

"How dare you!" she hissed and marched and stopped a few inches short of him. Then she drew herself up to her full height and peered at the darkness that stood over his face. "Do you have any idea who you're talking to? I can remove you from your post for your insolence. The only reason I've given you a leeway is because of your performance. Don't test my patience."

Sasuke opened his mouth to speak again but subsided into silence when Itachi spoke first, "Sasuke, stay quiet." He turned fully to look down at Tsunade. "You will get the report in a few hours. Sasuke and I got here only an hour ago—he did not get a chance to speak to her. He had to make a report of the border investigation conducted by Suigetsu and Jūgo. It should be under my report. I myself did not think Hinata's performance required any report. It was just a field experience gone awry. A few lines at the end of the mission report would do."

"Her father would require one and so would I," Tsunade said, still keeping her eyes on Sasuke as if to stop him from speaking or running away.

"Why would her father require a field experience report?" Itachi asked and moved his head slightly to the right. A mild look of surprise came into his face, but it vanished quickly.

"She was expecting and lost her child about a year ago when she strained herself. He thinks it would be for the best if her missions are monitored by her family. They have her best interest at heart," she said and stepped back with her hands on her hips.

"But I—" Hinata began, darting her eyes here and there as if she had made a grave mistake by talking, "I-I don't want to report my missions to my father."

Tsunade gave Sasuke a cold look and then brought her eyes to Hinata whose cheeks were red . . . and not from embarrassment this time. "Why? He's your father. I'm sure a copy of this report would keep him well-informed of your missions," she said and smiled a smile of motherly kindness. She had dealt with her miscarriages and knew how fragile she was.

"No," Hinata protested in a loud voice that shocked Tsunade. "Forgive me, H-Hokage-Sama, but this is a private matter. I'm an adult woman, and I don't want my family to interfere in my life all the . . . t-time," she muttered the last word and then fell silent again.

"Did you put her up to this?" Tsunade demanded and returned her cold eyes to Sasuke.

"I've no idea what you're talking about. Her family matters don't concern me, and had she not performed well in this mission, I would've sent her home—where she could've picked stitches and cleaned her house and that absurdly vast garden to her heart's content," he said in such a dry voice that his honesty hurt Hinata. A pain seared her throat and her eyes stung, but she fought back the tears and, for the first time in her life, succeeded in fully masking her grief.

"A little kindness would do that face a world of good," she said in a low voice, eyeing his unnaturally beautiful face that appeared hazy behind the receding darkness, but Sasuke merely sniffed the air in response. "A lot of things seem to be wasted on you," she added resentfully and looked at Hinata for a moment before directing her gaze to Itachi.

"Is there anything else you need?" Itachi asked and pulled a fake, sweet smile that was as subtle and ghostly as his other smiles; he appeared to be unperturbed, even amused, by Sasuke's behaviour . . . and it irritated her: Itachi really had coddled him so much.

"Just go, Itachi, and take this shameless, rude little boy with you—and teach him some manners," she shouted at Itachi and Sasuke. "I need to talk to Hinata. And I need those reports on my table by tomorrow evening, Sasuke, if you know what's good for you," Tsunade added in a stiff voice; she fixed her gaze on Itachi as he gave an amused smile and a small tilt of his head, and Sasuke who simply turned on his heels and left the room behind his brother, without sparing Hinata a moment's glance.

Hinata's heart picked up the pace, pounding. She had looked at Sasuke for any response, but he had not given any indication that she was even in the room. His cold attitude made her feel abandoned. Her thoughts raced: _is that how Sasuke's to his lovers—cold, distant and, aloof after he gets bored of them?_ The thought stabbed her heart like an icy knife. _No, he can't—he wouldn't—I-I . . ._ her thoughts ran the race and stopped dead in their tracks.

Her lips trembled, and she hid her face behind the convenient smoke of shadows. Even in her thoughts, the words seemed to shame her, beat her pride, and haunt her. Would she admit to herself that she felt something more than lust for the man who remained unaware of her desire? She closed her fingers, her knuckles turning white as the blood drained from her hands. It was hard to face up to the wish from her heart and spirit—a heart that was left blank and empty as she stitched up the white cloth that was meant to remain protected . . . torn, holed, and dirtied by everyone (with just a few rosy stains on the corners . . . ).

But deep down, down and down, right under the depths of those desires where no light penetrated, she knew what she felt for him: perhaps something delicate; perhaps love. The thought washed over her like a million waves crashing on a battered man, stranded on the edges of a turbulent shore, his hands scrabbling to grab a solid rock to save his life. She took a heaving breath as if she had just strained herself out of the surface of turbulent waters to draw in lungfuls of cold breaths.

It was hard to face that word and the truth that had been hitting at her conscience the moment Naruto betrayed her, and her heart strayed beyond the lines of marriage, honour, and loyalty—beyond the rigid lines, beyond the quaint customs she was taught from her childhood: "Hinata, be good. Be loyal. Be someone who can make her Otō-Sama proud. Be a woman who would bring honour to our family. Hinata, you are a wonderful girl—a good girl." The words of her mother echoed in her mind, ringing in her ears as if the voice had made it from beyond the curtains of life to reproach her for her misdeeds.

Her breath came as a dull sob, unheard by the woman who was pacing around the office with a few papers and scrolls in her hands. Her mother was dead; she had no right on her life anymore. She lost it the moment she left her at the mercy of life. Her body was not a temple for Naruto to visit as he pleased, desecrate if he did not enjoy, and defile with relics of another woman's affection if he hated. No, she had made it her own and created a sweet disposition for herself to find her own happiness.

Hinata wanted, no, desired Sasuke with such vehemence that it was creating a small creature of fear in her that wriggled and twisted warily whenever she looked at him. It sang a song of desperation that came from her depths—a song that lamented her betrayals and sung of the hot blood in her veins in joy: the young blood that was willing to course hotly through her young body that yearned for him to touch it; the blood that boiled and seethed, not willing to stop till it was not over for her. She closed her eyes, breathing in the cool air in the room.

Yes, she accepted it . . . embraced something of him she could not name—not yet. A small smile broke the dull features. Tsunade knocked her right knuckle gently against the table, and the sound broke through her thoughts almost immediately. The Hokage was shaking her head over something and muttering under her breath. Hinata caught ' _rude Uchiha boys_ ' and ' _think they can fool me_ ' before she left whatever business she was attending to and turned around and looked at Hinata full in the face.

"Sasuke isn't here now. What did he say to you?" she demanded, her hands firmly fisted on her hips as if she was ready to punch and knock out anyone who would dare enter her office.

Not understanding a word she said, Hinata's expressions assumed a confused look. "I don't understand, H-Hokage-Sama?" she said in that same stuttering voice she hated with passion now, but this small hair-trigger experience had knocked out a bit of shyness from her.

"Did he say you shouldn't report back to your father? Sage knows that brat doesn't even want birds pooping in his garden without his permission," she said heatedly and pursed her lips, colour rising in her pale cheeks again.

Hinata had a strange image of Sasuke wagging his finger at birds that trained their posteriors with great accuracy at his lawn and dropping sticky droppings everywhere, angering him till he was forced to pull out his whizzing Sharingan and Genjutsu as many of them as possible; and then Itachi finally coming out and patting him on the back. "Sasuke, I love you with all my heart. Today, you have made me proud again by saving my Uchiha Gunbai fan lying in the garden from these unpleasant bird droppings. Long live Uchiha pride and long live our garden."

"Nii-Sama, you're always _so_ awesome!" Sasuke spoke with stars sparkling in his eyes.

Hinata had a strong urge to let out a laugh, but she bit her lower lip instead. "No—Sasuke-Sama never told me not to tell my father about the mission. We're only not allowed to talk about the details. It was my choice," she said honestly and stared back with calm in her white eyes when Tsunade grabbed her shoulders, looking concerned.

"Hinata," she paused as if gathering her wits to talk to her, "you know your uterus is too fragile to withstand such burdens. You can die if you push yourself too hard. That doesn't scare you? You want to bear a child for—"

"I don't want to bear any children for now," she replied and placed her hand on Tsunade's, meeting her shocked eyes with the same calm that washed over her. "I don't want this—for now. I would appreciate it if you kept this b-between us. Don't tell anyone, not even Shizune-San . . . and Sakura," she hissed out her name, but Tsunade did not notice it—she still appeared to be positively shocked.

The older woman kept staring at her in disbelief. Her face appeared white, curtained between smooth golden hair. Hinata could see sweat bursting out of the pores on the fair forehead, but the look of absolute shock was slowly disappearing. Suddenly, a small smile graced Tsunade's red lips and she backed away. "Hinata's all grown up now," she said with a smile and patted her head in a loving manner. "I'm happy you are finally thinking about your own life. You never did in the past—no matter how many times I protested."

Hinata stood silently, and her eyes lowered in adoration. Tsunade had been kind to her; she had looked after her during those tough days when she suffered the pains of miscarriage and nearly died once on the hospital bed from excessive bleeding. Naruto had looked repulsed that day; and that was the last time he ever laid with her. It seemed like so long ago. But she would always be grateful to her.

"Change," Tsunade breathed out dreamily and looked up at the small cobweb dangling between the blades of an old fan on the ceiling. It was still and needed to be dusted. "It's a good thing—for you, even better. I'll ask Shizune to send you the medicine you need to be sterile for a year." She looked down and settled her hard gaze on Hinata.

"But—what if my—"

"Don't worry about Hiashi or Minato. I will tell them that you're unwell to bear any children for now—not till you get your strength back," she assured and brought out a warm smile and a light pink colour on Hinata's pallid face. "Now run along. You have had a long day. I know Sasuke. He likes to give people a hard time. The rude boy . . ."

Hinata bowed before her and jogged out of the office. She felt like a child—free of burdens for the first time in her life. When she made it outside, the moon had won the battle against the swathe of clouds and was shining brightly down upon Konoha. She was slightly disappointed to find that Sasuke had left; but she smiled up at it and, feeling freer than ever, ran off to her home.

# # # # # #

The bizarre Sharingan patterns in his eyes lapsed back to their calm state. The commas appeared suddenly, and their perfunctory circling came to a slow halt. The prisoner's head was bent. He looked haggard and weary. A deep stoop to his back made him look like a decrepit old man on the verge of starvation. Fresh sweat broke out on his young forehead that had yet to bear the deep marks of age. The drops dried quickly in the dry chill of the room. It must have stung him, but they did not know—nor cared.

"The seal on him is strong," Itachi spoke and placed his hand on the prisoner's shoulder. "I cannot seem to get through, even with Genjutsu." He twisted his neck and created a calm exterior as he looked back to Sasuke. It was a sham, a mask he loved to wear upon his face, but he always regarded Sasuke with fond eyes, quelling his _Mangekyō_ Sharingan before it unintentionally snared his younger brother's senses.

Their eyes met and Sasuke's Sharingan pulsed forcefully to life to resonate with his brother's as if it were alive and desired the other intensely. It was something all Uchihas shared—something bizarre and grotesque that had its own romantic notions. They cherished this bond of visions, this dance of shared perspectives; it was their pride, their vanity, and their eternal romance with the idea of ' _see all and know all'_.

Sasuke's face appeared blotchy behind the deformed shadows of trees thrown on his visage. He stood in the long, wavering beams of the lanterns' lights outside. As they swayed, his face appeared to take on different shades of grey. His eyes defiantly shone on his face. He looked ghastly, standing aloof like a lifeless spectre in the dark. Hinata stood just ten feet away from him, her eyes flitting from Sasuke's stone-cold face to the prisoner's. He was wheezing, trapped in a nightmare no one saw. She could not bear to look anymore.

"They _will_ ask for him when the night falls again," Sasuke spoke with a strong note of bitterness in his voice. "What's the use of keeping him alive? Just cut his throat. He's better dead than alive to us."

Itachi got to his feet and cast a curious eye over the young man, thinking. Sasuke, at times, was too hot-headed and hasty in his eyes, but there was merit in his words. "The seal was probably placed on him more than twenty-four hours ago. At this rate, he will not survive through the night," he said, his voice measured.

"A curse mark?" Sasuke asked and looked down his nose at the prisoner as if he was something filthy that would dirty his sandals and soil his new uniform.

Itachi brought his finger to his lips and looked up; something suddenly invaded his calm, impenetrable thoughts. "Where is Karin? She should have been back with the counter-seal by now."

"Poking around her trunk with a damn stick to find the scroll . . . imbecile," Sasuke said, his features changing with unpleasantness as if his brother's pride was being mocked by Karin's unpunctuality and girlish giddiness: they always were her shortcomings.

"I might try something, but it is risky," Itachi said, and his eyes met his brother's with such intensity that Sasuke felt a cold shiver crawl languidly down his spine in a zigzag manner—like a pesky spider. His playful illusions always got under his skin. Even though his hide was thick, his exterior a mirage, he was still a little too clumsy, a little too innocent for his beloved older brother's sinister tricks.

"Risky enough to end his miserable life?" Sasuke asked and stepped out of the bluish beam coming from the shaking lantern outside.

"Less risky than cutting his throat," Itachi said with a wisp of a smile playing about his lips.

Colour burnt in Sasuke's pale cheeks. "Nii-Sama, you mock me—and in front of my subordinate?" he spoke in a heavy voice, his jaw set.

"I forgot she was here," Itachi said in mock surprise, his tone soft, and stretched his hand to pat Sasuke's head. "I want to wait till Karin shows up. If she does not have anything on her, then I will leave him in a painless Tsukuyomi for a few seconds, though he will not survive it."

"If it's a curse-seal, we won't even get a chance to place the counter-seal. He might die during the transition," Sasuke said, adopting a low voice that died quickly against the sharp whistle of the wind, as it sped through the gaps between the lanterns.

"I wondered why they did not persist to take him—a little silly, because I foolishly assumed it might be a simple matter," Itachi said, his voice growing stern.

"They played us," Sasuke said, his voice thick with anger that was absorbed by the walls of the small room.

Outside, lanterns clanked and knocked into one another. Autumn wind sawed through the stillness. It was still steady and pleasant, carrying with it strange odours of earth and flora from outside. They permeated the room that was filled with the last glints of orange light, broken severely by the distorted beams of purple; the room was a blast of messy colours.

Sounds of girls trilling and kids laughing poured into the silent room through the small window—the only window in the room. Hinata's Byakugan could see through the thick walls at the chakra of many passing by just beyond the walls of the garden. The bare trees' dry branches crackled as if in pain from being caressed by the cold wind. Suddenly, Hinata saw a body with an incredibly intense chakra enter through the gate.

"K-Karin's back!" she stammered out so suddenly and loudly that Sasuke and Itachi turned around and whipped out their deadly equipment like a hasty bolt of lightning.

"That gave us a fright," Itachi said in mild amusement and stowed his sharp kunais away. He looked at Hinata who pulled her lips back in embarrassment, showing too many teeth.

"Keep it down!" Sasuke rasped and pushed his sword back into the leather sheath. Hinata let out a quiet sound of frustration and hid her blush under the thick shroud of shadows accumulating steadily at the corners.

Soft steps sounded on the other side and not a breath escaped their lips when Karin swung open the door. She stood there, framed in the door, staring at the prisoner like a baffled idiot left alone at an overcrowded circus.

"You need an invitation?" Sasuke asked, and his face worked into a scowl—an expression Karin recognized all too well.

Karin stepped daintily into the room, with a wide grin on her face. There was playfulness in the way she moved, and Sasuke was losing patience. She stopped close to Sasuke and pulled out the scroll with an exaggerated gesture. She let out a nervous laugh at the look on Sasuke's face and then suddenly fell quiet.

"I hope this is worth everyone's time," Sasuke said in a grave voice, casting a cold indifferent glance her way.

"I had to make changes to the counter-seal. It wasn't easy, you know," Karin said in a small voice and avoided Sasuke's eyes.

Sasuke opened his mouth but Itachi forestalled him: "will this work? The curse-seal is well past the point of return. Look at him—he's already dying," Itachi said in a soft voice, his face an exquisite mask of coldness. The man wheezed by his feet. His forehead pressed against the dirty floor of the room. He looked miserable . . . and so close to death.

"You'll just have to put a little faith in me, Itachi-Sama," Karin said with a smile in her voice.

"Faith is a precarious thing. I do not like to put all of my fruits in one basket," Itachi said, looking at her with curiosity: she struck him as someone delightfully odd in manner.

"Sasuke really takes a lot after you. I always thought it was just the beautiful face and that hot body," Karin teased, her voice vibrating with glee.

Itachi gave a short, quick sigh that may have hidden a soft laugh. "Please, proceed," Itachi said in a flat tone of voice, wearing a small smile on his face. Yes, she was odd. "We will soon find out whether faith falls behind you or not."

"I don't think it's safe just to keep all of our defenses here. Karin can use Sensing. You and I have to be at the Hokage's office for the report. That just leaves Hinata," Sasuke said and turned his eyes slowly to Hinata who stiffened under his heavy gaze.

"Send her out—at this time when the night is almost upon us? That is not wise, Sasuke. She is not well-trained for this sort of task," Itachi replied, his eyes on Karin's back as she settled herself down next to the prisoner and started making symbols at the back of his damp head, to start the counter-seal process.

"Our Hokage thinks I'm a buffoon for suggesting that, and she's quite accomplished. Well, aren't you, Hinata?" he asked and worked himself into anger again . . . though, halting carefully short of that nature to imitate his brother's natural charms, he only managed a little frown.

"I-I didn't say anything. She just assumed it on her own. I swear!" Hinata said innocently and pressed her hand to her chest.

"Liar, liar," Sasuke said, gave an amused chuckle, and nodded afterwards as if he was agreeing with himself. "You can finally prove yourself today by standing at the verges of the village. Make sure you cover ten kilometers—till morning."

"I-I—" she fumbled helplessly for words with fresh sweat breaking from her every pore, her shirt's front straining from deep and nervous breaths. This was insane!

"You're not to move from where I station you. Keep your Byakugan on at all times. Take supplies from the compound to replenish your chakra. If you see someone, you contact me by sending a distress signal into the air. You won't engage, you won't follow, and you won't play the role of a foolish Shinobi. Do I make myself clear, Hyūga girl?" Sasuke turned around to look at her, and his face contorted with a hard smile.

"Someone's in trouble," Karin lilted from the corner.

"Karin, do yourself an immense favour and stop talking," Sasuke said, but his words fell on deaf ears as it had yet to knock the giddy girl out of her. She pressed her finger over her lips and let out a loud _'shhh'_. Her behaviour was beginning to irritate him.

"Why don't you make yourself useful as well, then? The patrol of the other portion would do just fine—now that the counter-seal's almost done."

"That's twenty kilometres. It will be muddy outside—and dark! That's the patrol team's job," Karin protested feebly and jumped to her feet. "Besides, I might have to watch over him. The counter-seal business is tricky." She touched her glasses and pushed her sheet of red hair back. Sasuke looked unimpressed.

"I thought I told you to stop talking," Sasuke said in a low voice, his face impassive. "As useful and skilful your tongue is, I wouldn't overuse it freely if I were you. Do as you're told. As soon as the counter-seal starts showing its effects, you'll leave and patrol the entire region to the South-East. I don't want any patrol interrupting my work here."

"No one is aware that we have a prisoner with us. I informed the Hokage of this. She believes it is safe that no one but her knows what we plan to do. Leaving out our trusted ninjas amongst the patrol is a wise decision. Karin, you should make haste. This is a delicate matter. Do not slight it," Itachi said and cupped his chin.

"Nii-Sama, why don't you leave your crows to watch the areas to the East and West? The fewer loopholes we have, the better," Sasuke suggested, shoving his hand inside his pocket. He stole a quick glance at the sky and then looked at the dark wicks in the lanterns. It was nearly dark now. The lanterns outside were out. He would have to ask Yuu to rekindle them.

"Birds of a feather," Itachi said and smiled. They used to spy on the neighbouring houses in the past in this manner to know their secrets on the boar hunting game—to set traps at the convenient spots. Sabotaging them was just a dream every team equally shared. They also shared disappointments when the mischievous Uchiha brothers always won. It was an innocent childhood pleasure, but one they thoroughly enjoyed.

Sasuke chuckled, his coal black eyes glinting in the faint purple light of the last lamp still burning defiantly against the steady, cool draft. "We play to win," Sasuke said, a playful smile breaking his face. He hung his head slightly to the right and flicked Hinata a curious glance. "Get going. We have a whole night ahead of us."

He left after whispering something to Itachi, which she could not quite catch as the wind's whistling grew louder by the second. "Come with me," Itachi said after Sasuke left and gestured Hinata from the door to follow him.

When they made it outside, Itachi created several crows. They all flew in different directions, except for one that sat calmly on his shoulder. "I am leaving this one to follow you. If an enemy shows up, it will cast a powerful Genjutsu on it. That will give you enough time to make your escape," he paused and looked up at the moon, distracted by the sliver of the last golden lights of the sun, "I will not be able to watch all places at once. I expect you to be wise."

"But Sasuke-Sama said—"

He held up his hand to silence her. "Do not worry about Sasuke. I will reason with him, but he is right. I am not concerned with what you said before the Hokage and I will not press you, nor would I call you a liar. However, she believes that _you_ believe yourself to be ready. She said to Sasuke as much, when we both know you need time to hone your skills—work hard and stop relying on my brother. He is hemmed in by troubles as it is." He looked at her with such expressionless eyes that it wrung a small sigh out of her.

"Thank you, Itachi-Sama. I won't let you down," She said in a small voice and lifted her head up to watch as the crow flew up and perched itself on a naked branch and looked down at her with keen, human eyes that frightened her.

"I am doing you an immense favour. Do not expect me to intervene in my brother's decisions again. Speak wisely and think ahead. Your tongue seems to get the better of you and your mind. Let your mind instruct your body and tongue. Do not leave its reins in their inexperienced hands. Otherwise, you will only end up with regrets," Itachi said, his voice was calm but full of warning.

Hinata felt naked before him. He knew and she felt humiliated! Did Sasuke really confide in his brother—told him of something so personal? No, it could not be. The crow loudly cawed as if urging her to move on. She looked in Itachi's direction, but he disappeared behind the shadows.

 _Do not speak to me and dissolve into the depths of passions that have swayed my heart_ , Hinata thought about these words she had read in a Romance-story so long ago; she stood alone under the pattering rain in the dead of the night. It was her first mission alone.

She had been standing here for hours and had watched the sun dip below the tenuous line of clouds. They had become thicker gradually, swallowing up the autumn sun that was merciful at this time of the year. Now, it was darkness all around. A dull, cloud-filtered grey light of the moon barely touched the branches overhead, and then it disappeared almost suddenly.

It was ominous and she felt alone. Sasuke was, at least, generous enough to let her stock up as many chakra replenishing supplies her fanny pack allowed her; but being left to her own devices was still frightening. She shuffled nervously, and her sandal landed into the mud. She did not bother to look down. It was a part and parcel of her ninja life now.

Hinata cracked her cold-bitten knuckles. She felt resentful. Sasuke was pushing her forward too soon. Tsunade was that incessant woman in his view who really needed a bitter taste of reality. Her rose-tinted glasses did not make her see Hinata's poor skills. So to make it a point to teach Hinata a lesson to not spin yarns behind his back, he sent her out all alone.

Hinata could hear the thuds of her own heart, faint in the sounds of the light rain. She looked up and saw Itachi's crow staring down at her with its red eye shining like that of a bird of ill-omen. The Sharingan in its right eye whirled—its three commas slowly moved in circles.

It let out a loud caw and shook its body. It did not feel right having it around, perched on a branch right above her head. Itachi had the best of intentions, but she felt humiliated at his persistence to aid her. He was only proving Sasuke right. She was not even sure if he did it for her . . . or Sasuke. His words had left her in shock. He always talked in riddles, but even if Sasuke had told Itachi of the intimacy between them, it was not as though he would confess. It was pointless to linger on it any longer.

She sighed and slumped back against the wet tree. The crow cawed again, and its sharp sound echoed in the space around her, magnified by the stillness, broken by the gentle pattering of the drizzle. A swell of a night bird's song rose into the cold air. She looked up and saw the crow twisting its neck and looking to the right as if something interested it. Suddenly, it flew away, startling Hinata.

"Wait!" Hinata called out and made to stand up straight but fell back against the bark again. Sasuke had warned her not to move from her position. She sat down on the muddy ground but quickly got to her feet when she saw chakra of several people coming from the North. Her face worked into a soft look of panic. Other than her blind spot, there were few people behind her as well.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the chakra flare stick, only to realize that the powder inside it had gotten wet from the raindrops. She had forgotten to zip up her fanny-bag. She rubbed it hard against her sleeves, but it was still wet. Fear washed over her in waves. The crow was gone and she was all alone.

She ducked as if evading _Ninjutsu_ attacks and looked everywhere. The people behind her were gone save for two ninjas, but as she strained to look ahead, she saw three people hiding about a hundred feet away from her in the bushes. It was hard to tell whether they were men or women, but they had a good amount of chakra. The crow suddenly came back and cawed madly overhead.

"W-What—what should I do?" she asked it frantically and craned her neck; but it would not stop cawing. She wanted to shoo it away but it would only direct the attention of those men towards her. She had to think fast as one of them was speeding towards her.

She rubbed the flare on her jacket's sleeve again. It had dried up a bit. She tried to pass her chakra through it, but the wetness of the powder did not let it pass through the stick. It was designed to convert any chakra to flame and launch it upwards. She had bungled such an important mission. Her throat hurt and raindrops stood in her eyes, misting them.

Hinata had to act. She scrambled to her feet clumsily as if she had just gotten loose from someone's strong grip and ran ahead, thinking that as long she did not wander off too far, Karin should still be able to cover an area close to the compound; she should be able to keep a track of the area behind her.

She had barely made it a couple of feet ahead when the crow landed close to the branch just above her and let out an ear-splitting caw. "S-Stop it!" she said in a shaky voice and vigorously rubbed the flare on her jacket again. But the crow would not silence itself: its beak opened and closed rapidly, putting out grating sounds so loud that she felt as if she was sitting amidst countless of them.

Sensing that it had distracted her, she ran ahead, astonished to find that someone had just collapsed a small tunnel there. She could see nothing beyond a few feet beneath the broken rocks. The man standing just a few feet away simply disappeared. "No—a Kage Bunshin," she whispered in defeat. It was a trap!

She hastily retraced her steps. The other men were nowhere to be found. She sprinted as fast as she could. Finally, her chakra made it through the flare-stick and a long light rose up into the air that cut the darkness in half. She did not stop to look up and kept running and running. Her breaths came out as short, ragged gasps. Her forehead stained with cold sweat as she felt puffed, out of wind from covering such a large distance in mad haste without a break.

Hinata jumped over a rotting bark ahead but lost her footing. She slipped in the mud and crashed to the ground and sprained her ankle; but she did not stop. The night pulsed with life around her, but the only thing on her mind was Sasuke. He would never forgive her if the prisoner died. He would let her go. He would stop loving her. The trees passed by her, a grey blur. She did not care. She did not stop. She kept running till she reached the threshold of Uchiha village. She stumbled into the garden, her eyes swollen and red with the assault of tears.

She slapped her hand onto the smooth wall of the house and raised herself up. Her half-mast eyes shone in the light coming from the stairs going underground. She put her hands on her bosom and braced herself. Her feet moved before she even measured her first thought. She stopped at the door, her eyes wide as she stared at the fresh blood that gushed in streams from the hole where the prisoner's heart should have been. Sasuke stood over him with his back to her.

He turned around, his face contorted by anger and contempt. His lower lip trembled. He stopped close to her and parted his lips and hissed, "you're useless." Then he stormed out of the prison-cell. The prisoner was dead . . .

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	20. A Flickering Flame

**Chapter Twenty** : A Flickering Flame

 **Canon-Manga Info** : Before I state anything else, I would like to point out something significant concerning Itachi and Sasuke's relationship. **Kotoamatsukami** ( **KA** ) is a very powerful Genjutsu. It completely snares the person's mind and rewrites a command over their present convictions or mental state and makes them do its bidding. This was the Genjutsu Itachi had reserved for Sasuke. Mind you, it doesn't fade away as Itachi stated, which is why Kabuto intended to rewrite the Fuda in Itachi's head; he also stated that a command ("protect Konoha") had been "overlaid" the Edo Tensai command; hence, the reason why it had to be physically rewritten by Kabuto, and which is why he tried to do so repeatedly during his battle with the Uchiha siblings.

Now, this command was active the entire time when Itachi was chased by Sasuke (Naruto had already told him of Sasuke's intentions to harm Konoha) and when Sasuke told Itachi himself that he was going to destroy Konoha. For all intents and purposes, Itachi, despite his convictions, should have struck Sasuke down no matter how much he loved him—just as ET made him do Kabuto's bidding despite his nationalistic tendencies.

He didn't do anything. Instead, he stated that " **...** _**but I want to impart at least this much truth to you: you don't ever have to forgive me. And no matter what you do from here on out, know this**_ **,** _ **I will love you always**_." If the character himself is stating that he's telling the " **truth** " and will " **lie** " no longer, then there is no need to flip-flop around this and come up with pointless justifications. He has pretty much admitted that he values Sasuke's life far more than the zealot within him that craves Konoha's supremacy. Also, don't look at Danzō's use of KA; it was pretty terrible as Sharingan will work best with an Uchiha as they are " _genetically adapted_ " to utilize the eyes to their full capacity.

So whatever you read in the coming chapters has been taken directly from canon material. Now, this chapter will develop a bizarre relationship between Hinata and Itachi. It mostly develops upon Itachi's take on the whole affair, and you will begin to see Itachi's true colours . . . slowly but surely.

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The horizon was just starting to bleed first red signs of a new morn as three of them stood under the vast expanse of Konoha sky. Out in the jungle, a gentle swell of the first morning songs of numerous blackbirds broke the stillness in the damp air.

A light rain was pouring down, pelting the side of Itachi's pale face, his eyes fixed rather impassively upon Karin as she knelt close to the small tunnel that had caved in last night. He had his hair in a loose ponytail as always—a habit he had not given up ever since he grew them out about two decades ago.

Hinata stood close to him, her face a little fearful under the smooth black fringe that whipped her wet forehead. Her hands were in tiny knots by her sides as if she was ready to strike out at anyone. But she was fragile—fragile enough to feel the gentle shower of dry leaves graze her face slightly when a cold wind shook the final bits of life out of the tall trees that stood proudly, nearly still, around them.

She remained quiet, counting and measuring her breaths as carefully as possible. The way rage broke over Sasuke this morning . . . she did not want to draw Itachi's ire, as well. She had made a terrible mistake, but she was not ready to lose the battle just yet. One more chance—that was all she desired now.

Karin's face was covered with the thinnest film of the morning rain, the gleam of her young flesh visible through the wet blouse. She wore a black undergarment—which was soaking wet—and the cotton blouse clung to it for its dear life. Her face suggested nothing as she concentrated on the spot by pointing two fingers up; she was gathering chakra to sense. Hinata could not tell whether she was successful or not.

Karin looked over her shoulder, and the misty greyness of autumn's morning broke her face into strange colourful patterns as the sun rose ever so slightly in the sky. She drew her lower lip slowly through her teeth and inhaled a bit loudly to speak, "I can't sense anything. Whatever it was, it's gone now."

No expression invaded Itachi's eyes. His face was like a pale mask that melted into such subtle expressions when his guard was not needed. As painfully handsome as he was, his face appeared waxen and lifeless without Sasuke around. Hinata felt a slow shiver dance through her; was she wrong in placing her trust in him? Something about him scared the wits out of her.

He kept staring at the spot where Karin was, his Sharingan out now, scanning the area curiously. The fingers of his right hand were curled beneath his chin; the other rested under his elbow as if supporting it. He maintained that deathly silence for a few more seconds, and then his Sharingan finally disappeared. "The rain?" he asked and fell silent again.

Karin raised herself to her feet and dusted off the dirt caking her knees. "I doubt it. The rain isn't heavy enough and it wasn't that long ago, anyway. Sasuke immediately sent me here, so no one could've run past me."

"Unless they ran for the hills up North," Itachi said, his mouth suggesting the disposition of an eternal sceptic. The more Hinata looked at him, the more she realized that Sasuke, with all his passions and wildness, strove to mimic his brother. There was no emotion she had not seen on Itachi that Sasuke's face did not assume with sheer delight—only with far less subtlety and experience. He loved to mimic his older brother. It was like a sacred ritual to him.

Karin gave a small shake of her head. "I should've been able to sense them anyway. Even if it was a Bunshin. My sensing range is accurate for thirty kilometres. It fades afterwards. But I should've sensed something—anything," she said and rested her fists on her hips. "This tunnel was built to fool her."

Hinata made a small angry sound of protest, but Itachi interrupted her as if he did not hear it, "tear it up," he said and his voice sounded so strange in the wind.

Karin nodded and made a few hand seals. A small gasp escaped Hinata's lips before she could catch it with her hands. Four sturdy looking chakra chains appeared out of Karin's small back. They looked wispy and ghostly—things for show. But she knew better than to be deceived by appearances. She stepped back, ignored by Itachi who knelt down, stretched his arms, and rested them on his knees. A long kunai dangled from the lazy grasp of his long fingers.

Stones flew out and few of them were ground to dust by the mechanical looking tips of her chains. In a few more seconds, she cleared it out the heap of misshapen stones and revealed a small space underneath. She did not look at Itachi this time and hopped in. The colour of her red hair deepened in the shadows that still gathered by large numbers in the tunnel.

After a few rustling and coughing sounds, she leapt out and landed before Itachi. His head was bent slightly to the left, and a look of mild curiosity crept slowly over his face; but the transformation was so sluggish that Hinata felt that his unyielding face would never quite catch on. It was a comical show of pretence. How the two brothers loved to hoodwink everyone.

"It's like you said, Itachi-Sama. It was a small tunnel, barely large enough for one small person to crawl through. How did you guess?" she asked, and suddenly, a mischievous smile broke her fair face. Hinata thought she was quite pretty with her small kittenish features, rare pink eyes, and a small button nose and a soft pink mouth. A few deep-red coloured freckles dotted her cheeks, giving them the illusion of a warm blush. Her red hair clung to her cheeks and a few to her forehead in a naturally clumsy manner; she gave the impression of a child who wore a badly cut imitation of a rose petal for a cheap theatrical drama.

Itachi rose to his feet and stood erect, his face blank. "Call it a hunch," he said. "It was created to trick Dōjutsu users. How many seals?"

"I counted eight on both sides before the debris blocked my path. I'll bet they run all the way to the opening I found," she explained and turned her head slightly to look south.

"I underestimated this whole thing. How foolish of me," Itachi said and put away the long, oddly-shaped kunai. "But how unlucky for you, Hinata."

Hinata looked away, her small mouth, a blur of its former pink hue, twisting down in worry. Yes, how unlucky for her. Sasuke threw her out of the team this very morning after he had spent his rage and shouted himself hoarse. Had Itachi not been there, she would have been amongst the walls of her lonely home by now; those silent walls that ate away at her and drove her mad.

Itachi reasoned with Sasuke with a few words, and he, reluctantly, came around—all because of the simple fact that she knew about the prisoner. Sasuke told her to get out of his sight. She still remembered the sting of his voice rising with such violence that it nearly shattered the passions they shared together.

She felt a lump rise up to her throat, but she swallowed it hastily. Itachi saw the soft movement of her fair throat and spoke, "now, what to do with you?" His voice, still gentle, seduced her white eyes, and she raised them timidly to look through the smooth strands of her black hair. "Karin, go back and report to Sasuke. He needs to know what we have found here."

Hinata did not look in Karin's direction, but she knew Karin was running away as the soft splashing sounds of her feet dimmed in the pitter-patter of the drizzle. "I asked you something, Hinata?" Itachi asked again, his voice quite flat.

She looked up and stared into Itachi's eyes that did not hold any human emotion. They were empty, cold, and strange, and despite herself, she felt fear at Karin's absence. "I-I'm sorry," she said softly, her lips forming each word with care, "I don't know w-what came over me. I can't apologize enough."

"You disobeyed me when I told you not to leave your position unless it became a necessity. You made a foolish error of getting the flare wet. You did not heed the crow's caws. Tell me something with utmost honesty—do you enjoy being coddled like an unruly child with no sense whatsoever?" he spoke so slowly and in such a deliberately torturous manner that she felt his every word wound the little will left in her. His face was still cold, devoid of the touch of anything soft and human.

Hinata's eyes grew bigger and bigger and her mouth opened in shock. She did not know what to say. The tone of his voice was humiliating. His face was still the same: it suggested nothing. Yet, it was that lack of suggestion that lack of expression that made her fear him. How had she imagined she would have any sway over the Anbu Captain? How foolish that small reassurance seemed to her now.

Her lips moved but nothing came out. "Sasuke can be rash, very rash, unreasonable even—but he was right this time, and I had to go back on my words when I told you I would not challenge his decisions again. Do you have any idea what you have done? I have humiliated myself. The prisoner is dead, and we have a full-scale inquiry on our hands," Itachi spoke in an exquisitely frigid manner—each cold word whipping her pride raw.

"I . . . " she made a small sound but nothing really flowed out of her mouth to accompany it. She dropped her gaze and looked at her feet; she felt nothing but shame.

"Look at me when I speak to you," a cool voice came from his lips that drew her gaze quickly to his eyes. "It is always the eyes that give a man away. I do not like it when people hide their eyes from me. It is as if they are playing a game right under my nose." His eyes were narrow and cold—so cold that she felt something sinister flow out of him. She did not know what it was, but it made every sinew, every bone inside of her shudder with fear. Sasuke was just a coarse imitation of his anger and passions. They ran deep inside him.

He pressed a thumb to his lips, moved it over them harshly, and wiped away the raindrops with haste. Blood rose in them the next moment—warm blood that suggested life on his waxen face that had the same odd beauty Sasuke possessed. "I really doubt you have any idea what you have done. You foolish little damned-girl," he said. "You will obey now, and you will do exactly as I say. This matter runs deep, and I warn you not to do anything that is not suggested to you."

He fell silent, and in that stillness, his face passed into a soft expression of curiosity for just a mere second before that, too, disappeared. He looked normal, handsome now. Hinata did not like him. He mocked her. But she knew she had it coming since last night. She had braced herself for humiliation, and so far, she was proud of herself. She had not broken down before them; she had not spilt any unneeded tears. Her pride was still hers.

"For now," he began in a surprisingly soft voice, "I want you gone to the Trainee ninja lodgings. You will not leave those grounds unless I tell you to. You will not talk to anyone, not even Sasuke. You will not speak of anything unless I ask it of you. I will send Yuu to train you every day for the whole week. You will have to pull through the trials, because as it stands, you are unfit for any field missions. Is that clear?"

Hinata nodded and looked at the light breaking the greyness in the sky just behind him. Rain had stopped and light shone through his hair, his face soft and calm under the ink-black hair. He looked so like Sasuke that it broke her heart to hear the indifference in his voice. He did not say anything and stepped around her; he did not stop and kept walking towards the dense trees; then he simply disappeared—a dark blur in the forest.

Convinced that he was finally gone, she let out a loud sigh and slumped down to the ground. She wiped her face on her sleeve and smiled. It was tough facing these two daemons, but she had conquered her faltering will today, and it made her happy!

Light was still breaking the sky apart, flooding upon the cluster of Konoha buildings, when Hinata made it to the lodgings. Several people were smoothing the ground churned to mud by the persistent rains and countless steps.

She looked at the slightly ajar gate slick with wet and stepped through it. Several eyes fell upon her, and then came a steady sound of whispering from the workers. She had become a topic of discussion amongst many women and workers: a married woman who defied her in-laws and father to become a Shinobi again. Miyuki had told her as much in her letters: people were talking, their tongues wagging behind her back, but people always talked.

She was glad that Miyuki had told her. "Word gets around," she said in her letter a few days ago, "don't let it discourage you, Hinata-Sama. You're an inspiration to all women who can't escape their domestic burdens. I wish you all the strength and happiness in the world."

Hinata had sent her off to her relatives with full pay for two months. She needed to spend time with her family in another village in the Fire country. The image of her own home flashed through her mind, suddenly. She had not been there for days. The flowers in her window must have rotted away by now—pots overflowing with rainwater. Did she close the window when she left? Her kimono, her lamp drawings . . . all of them must be ruined, soaked through with water—damp and useless. She breathed a deep sigh, her eyes catching sight of Yuu marching towards her.

He was the same, his face calm and cheerful. He greeted Hinata with a warm smile and he stopped close to her. He bent his head sharply down when his sandal landed in the mud, and he winched. "You just got here?" he asked and the smile returned as he slowly raised his face. "Itachi-Sama just sent me a hawk from his office. All the official details are here." He held out a scroll in his hand, a soft smile still lingering on his softer face.

"Where will I stay?" she asked and looked around at the long line of quarters stretched from end to end at the edge of the vast misty ground.

"Yes, I should show you your quarter. Itachi-Sama won't be here until a couple of more minutes," he said as if talking to himself and then he turned around. "Follow me." He gestured and Hinata started walking in his wake.

Cool raindrops dotted her cheeks and traced the puzzled contours of her white face: Itachi had more to say to her? She did not raise her head as the light wind drove the clouds south. They were letting go of the final bits of their strength on Konoha.

Lost in thoughts, she had no idea when Yuu paused in his steps by a locked door. Then he unlocked it with a heavy-looking iron key and swung it open. The room was small, and there was only one tiny window just above the side-table. It opened into the small garden at the back, with flowers growing. There was enough space in the room to walk around. A thick mattress filled with cotton was laid on the bed raised above the chalk-white floor by legs longer than six inches, she imagined.

She could see a thin stream beyond the window that ran alongside a cluster of small stems sticking out of the ground. Only one had a tiny bud on a fresh and pliant branch: a budding purple lily. Sasuke's favourite. A smell of pleasure descended over her, so sweet and pleasant, but it disappeared quickly. Maybe she drove it out herself. She did not know. She turned her gaze and saw a small cupboard in front of the bed. The room was well-kept and comfortable enough.

Hinata did not mind she would be here for a week. She had no desire to go back home. She did not care if rainwater flooded her home and splashed onto the porch to ruin the pots there; she did not care if it destroyed the fake splendour of her garden; and she did not feel anything for those overgrowing moors. She was done. Her strength was gone for those chores.

Just when the last thought pulled out a delicate thread from the web of her memories, she heard noises behind her. Turning around, she saw Itachi standing near a group of trainee Shinobis—all of them bowed, shouted honorifics and morning greetings. He still bore the cruel signs of the same expression on his face. It was always the same face, day after day, subtly and cleverly managed by meagre emotions. He said something to the ninjas and they scattered, and she found herself jogging towards him.

She came to a clumsy halt and bent her head low in a courteous bow and whispered a quick greeting he did not answer. He was still angry or as angry he could have been in his own bizarre way.

"Go and explain the details to the group. They will have their tests for the night's field missions today. I need to speak to this girl," he commanded and Yuu walked away, leaving her alone with a man who really did stir the worst kind of panic in her.

Hinata raised her eyes this time, remembering his cold words: _the eyes, they tell a man's tale_. And what did his eyes tell her? Nothing. He was too clever. His eyes were too clever to become weak and mist over with a small emotion. No, they were at his command and she at his. How ironic were his words when his own gaze told no memories from his past.

Itachi closed his eyes for just a moment, and she unwillingly found her own gaze lingering on his face. She looked keenly at a few raindrops clinging to the rich dark fringe of his lashes. In that small serene moment, he reminded her of Sasuke again. _O' darling eyes, tell me your tales_ , she thought of the tale's words again—not of him, but of Sasuke. But when he opened them, the same hard emotion blazed in his eyes, red with the mark of his clan.

She saw his lips move and got forcefully thrown out of her memories of Sasuke. "The matter is settled . . . for now," he began as he stood straight—his expression, a veil of mysteriousness again, did not quite delight her, "we made a yarn of a self-destruct seal on the heart. Mist tricked us. This lie was bound to go in our favour. What would they say? We lied to you? Made fools out of you? His memories are lost to us forever—and to them, as well." He let out a weary sigh.

As true his words were, Hinata could not see why such a lowly prisoner could be of such value to him. And as if he had just read her willing and open mind, he threw her a hard look of reproach. "You are not being filled in out of some misplaced notion that you are a trained ninja, privy to everything," he said, "no—you are told things that would not end up jeopardizing my brother, as you have left no stone unturned to ruin him in the darkness of cold nights."

"Itachi-Sama, I—"

"Kindly, let me finish," he cut across her icily. "You are as hasty in your speech as you are in your mannerisms. And let me tell you this, it is never a good combination. Sasuke should not have dismissed you. I knew he would have come around by nightfall, but it was necessary that I protected his pride. You see, I did not want to see him cringe before you—before anyone. It was one of the reasons why I stepped in."

Hinata nodded and felt a small sob swell painfully in her throat. She sucked it in and clasped her fingers together. He could not have made their intimacy more obvious. The curves of her cheeks were red with humiliation and shame, but she stayed quiet. He was not going to tell. It was still a secret. Why did it matter? She thought stubbornly, ending the threads of her clan's honour. It was a just a tale to her now.

He continued, "as clever, brilliant, and dexterous as he is, he is still a child—my child. I have been everything to him ever since we lost our parents. I have to guide him whenever and wherever he falters, missteps as a child would. And this was that moment. There was a chance someone could have murdered you before you even made it to the threshold of your home. You had seen the prisoner, and you are too naive and lack discipline to do enough to even save your own life."

He bent his head and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, ridding himself of the quivering drop hanging from his lashes. "Imagine the mess," he sighed and appeared to look at something beyond her, "a defiant Hyūga girl, taken in by my brother, murdered in the dead of the night. The scandal would have destroyed his reputation. I could not let that happen. Part of the blame lies on him, as well. He was hasty, and in his eagerness to prove the Hokage wrong, he pushed you—and you crashed, foolishly, as I knew you would."

Wind picked up the pace and forced her black hair to shake loose from the ponytail she had made. In the light of the day, Hinata gave the appearance of a ruined young woman, fighting and struggling to maintain her calm. She did not cry. She did not flinch. She stood calmly and looked back at his cold eyes as he had asked of her—the eyes told a man's tale. _What do they say about me_? she wanted to ask, but they were not that frank.

"Karin has placed a seal on you," he said, drawing out a fearful expression on her face, "but do not worry yourself. It is a memory seal. Your head would be safe from others forever. I think you should consider it a blessing given the nightly mishaps that dog your steps."

There—it was that cold taunt again, wrapped beautifully in the flat tone of his voice. There was no use denying him. Yes, she desired Sasuke. _Let him know—let him try and read my eyes. He knows everything_ . . . what was left to read from her now? Hinata cared little for his taunts. She tucked loose strands carefully behind her ear and waited for him to resume. He seemed to be distracted by something, with his head turned to his right.

Without looking at Hinata, Itachi reached to his back and locked his hand to the hilt of a Kunai and unsheathed it. He held it out and spoke, "here, keep it. Consider it a gift from me."

Timidly, Hinata reached out and took it from his hand. She ran her eyes over the sharp hilt glistening with raindrops as they slipped off its smooth edges. It was unusually long for a Kunai. Then she remembered that Sasuke and he carried one similar to this one, too. "Thank you," she said in a small voice and looked up at him, noticing no change in his demeanour.

"It is made by the kunai makers in our Clan. I am giving it to you as a sign of good faith that you will work hard and pull through. It is imperative that you do," he said and looked away for a second at the group again. "Yuu will train you and I will come by every evening to see your progress. If need be, I will train you a bit myself. But do not be foolish enough to count on it, as I hardly have any spare time for anyone beyond my brother these days. I cannot make any promises, but I will try."

She muttered out a weak ' _thank you_ ' again and clasped the kunai firmly in her right hand. Then, just like that, he left the grounds without looking behind him. Her gaze, thick with anxiety, followed him till she could see him no more.

It was an odd life on the training grounds. She never ate breakfast with so many strangers. She had to stand in a long line and hold out a plate to get a freshly baked loaf of bread, rice balls, a nice omelette with a few berries, along with that necessary cup of milk. The dining hall was just outside the grounds, and it was noisy.

Ninjas around her chattered, laughed, and discussed the coming exams. It was difficult to even weave a thought in that din. Hinata did not mind. It excited her. No one was curious about her. No one bothered her with unnecessary questions. She was not a wife who escaped her domestic life here; she was a woman training to be a ninja.

Many ninjas were not even from Konoha but other villages in the Fire Country. They would be stationed in the police, guard, and military-unit squads throughout the country. Konoha was the centre of Fire Country's military, and every ninja came here to brave through the trails and return to their own villages with emblems of honour on their foreheads and backs.

She could not see Naruto anywhere in the large hall. No one from Sasuke's team ate breakfast there. Jōnin-led squads were not allowed to occupy the quarters and crowd the dining hall. Those were the rules. But Neji had come from home and ate breakfast with her. His pale face, framed in that auburn hair, was ruddy with excitement and happiness. He told her all about the exams, trials, and the life of being a shinobi on the grounds. She could not have been happier.

He did not wound her with questions, and she did not ask anything about her family. She wanted to be reticent and secretive about her life, and silently, he understood. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, white looking into white, and something in his face changed. It was as though he could pull at a loose string from her heart. But the moment faded too soon, not to return again in that small hour. He left quickly, leaving her trapped in a flood of memories and spicy smells intruding her private thoughts. It was a confusing, ambivalent atmosphere.

Sun broke through the last clouds with force, its rays shimmering on the countless drops scattered on the ground and the corrugated roofs. When she stepped out of her room after wearing her trainee outfit, she was asked by Yuu to stand in front of an orderly line of ninjas to the far right. Everyone was scrambling to form a line: it was like being back in the ninja academy!

Hinata stood with her legs slightly apart and hands clasped behind her back. She chose to take the same posture as everyone else. What would Itachi say if he found her standing like a timid girl with hands at war with each other, anxious and sweaty? Probably nothing kind . . . ninjas poured into the ground, and within minutes, the small path was flanked by hundreds of ninjas on both sides.

The squads' Jōnins stood in front of their teams—at a short distance from the other Jōnins. Their teams behind them assumed the same posture. As the sun hung in the sky, their shadows stretched out long behind them on the drying ground. Hinata's gaze roved along the lines of ninjas standing stiff under the sky that was equal to all Men.

Sai lead the Sensor Squad. He looked so pale in the thick shaft of light, the hair clinging to his pasty face appeared tar-black against his white skin. Some six feet away stood Shikamaru in front of the Strategic Squad. His features were so subtly transformed to show boredom. It was an old story for the character of his features.

Shizune stood opposite her. She had been leading the Medic Squad ever since she was appointed as a Jōnin Medic few years ago. Rumours filled the academies a year ago that Sakura would take over and Shizune would be promoted to lead the Medic Trainees' academy, but nothing big happened. She was a capable young woman who was from the same Chūnin-class Itachi and Hinata's uncle attended in the past.

It was in the past now as Itachi was their superior. Hinata wondered sometimes: how did Itachi's peers feel about being led and whipped into action at his slightest whims? They probably would never be comfortable with shrugging off their frankness so suddenly to cringe before their peer. An unsettling feeling weighed down upon her heart—did all of them feel that way about Itachi, feel about him as she did? Afraid and curious and anxious before the rarest prodigy Konoha had ever produced? She took in a deep breath. For now, it really did not matter to her.

Hinata's eyes slightly wandered right. There stood Sasuke, his face drawn, anxious as he stood facing east, leading the Espionage Squad. Neji stood just behind him. Itachi's eyes softened so subtly for a second when he passed by him. It did not miss her eyes. Her heart took to thudding, putting out such noise. It could never be tamed by her when he was around. She felt weak, so far away from shores of reason. But it did not matter; these irksome thoughts of rationality seemed foreign as desire rose in her again like an old habit.

She wanted him to look her way, meet her eyes, and see the passion in their depths, and perhaps, share them with her just for a few fleeting moments. But he was cold today. He still had not forgiven her for her mistake. It angered her. It was his fault, too. Why should she bear that onus alone? It was his to share, too. But his gaze did not want to leave the sun rising steadily to its godly perch to the East.

Disappointed, she pulled her eyes away. She did not want to keep looking at the face that was always devoid of passion and woe. Itachi began to say something to the teams' leaders. It felt like a buzzing in her ears—her mind lost and defeated before passion's assault. It had been so many days since she had seen her home and felt the heated touch her body was so eager to experience again.

When would his rage blow over? It had not followed in the wake of yesterday's storm. She never really expected it to; but she foolishly hoped and prayed for it to thaw on its own, somehow. She was turning into this selfish child who eagerly wanted him to be available to her whims now. Was it wrong to be this way? She clenched her teeth, narrowing her eyes angrily on the small yellow flowers that quivered by her feet. She would take anything now, even a wonderful touch of fantasy to soothe her guilt. He was beyond her reach—for now.

Feeling a strange calm flood her, Hinata closed her eyes and breathed in the morning air. Opening her eyes in the morning light, she resigned herself willingly to the tides of fate. She had to overcome this hurdle life had thrown at her. Sasuke lay far beyond _that_ steeple of her desires. She would climb to the peak when the time was right. She could not let herself be carried away upon the ebb and flow of her own tides. She would not, or else, it would be the end of her.

The meeting lasted for several minutes. Itachi droned about missions and teams; honesty and integrity and whatnot; his words meant little to her as she was just a bystander among them, waiting to be picked up from the sidelines. She should never have given up this life. The shame of being on the outside felt more pitiful and humiliating than she had imagined. She never wanted to taste this again.

Everyone scattered when Itachi was through with them. Sasuke and the other Team leaders disappeared. Itachi treated her with the same expressionless disdain as before and passed by her without giving her a glance. He, too, left the grounds after giving Yuu some instructions. Then it began: the impossible morning training. She ran several laps around the ground. By the time she stopped, her body ached all over.

Hinata placed her hand on the tree bark when Yuu gave them a break. Her shoulders bent. She was winded. Even in the chill of the wind, her skin burnt with the new ordeal it experienced. The rays stung on her fair face that flushed scarlet under the sun. Hot blood coursed through her body and raced to her heart that beat erratically and without rest. She could hear it pound everywhere, but she did not stop.

Yuu gave her a little chakra. It was so impossibly weak compared to Sasuke's. She wondered: _is he even an Uchiha_? But at that moment, it did not really matter. She focused her chakra and created a jagged sword. It looked no better than before. But she would sharpen and hone it with courage and skill. He made the swords again; and so it began yet again, the gruelling mission of repeating the same task over and over again.

She kept at it through the whole morning, stopping at lunch to take a little afternoon nap afterwards. The window was open. She espied the closed bud of the purple lily just beyond the window. It was still young, swaying and shaking in the light wind. It would probably bloom in a week or two. She could not really tell.

By evening, the sky grew purple and sombre. A thin crescent hung in the sky. The clouds were gone and the grounds were lit with torches. The flames crackled and burnt tall. She stood with a few other ninjas on the grounds. Some practised Shuriken-Jutsu, others Ninjutsu and Genjutsu dispelling techniques. She was left with the same task, and by the time night fell upon them and the sounds of the village became dull, Yuu asked her to make the swords one more time: they were just a bit better shaped than before.

Then Hinata heard the clang of the gates closing and caught a glimpse of Itachi leaving the grounds. How long had he been standing there? She did not really care. Yuu let her off for the day. She ate dinner at the dining hall and left for her room before anyone would ask her of her progress. She did not see Neji at dinner, so there was no point in staying there any longer. By the time she reached her own room, she was so tired that she fell down on her bed and fell asleep.

Next day was the same, but Jōnin Team Captains were not called on the grounds. "Mondays are report days," Yuu told her. A steady stream of ninjas came and went. She was invisible. No one stopped to ask her anything. It was heaven. Time passed by quickly here.

Soon, the whole thing became a habit: she would wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, train, and take a few breaks and crash on her bed at night. Itachi would come by in the evening to see her progress, but he never bothered to interact with her.

When the week came to a close, her swords started to gain a little shape. They were no longer horribly jagged; the tips were slightly round and their edges smoother than before.

"This is fantastic!" Yuu said, smiling as she sat on the bench with him at the edge of the grounds.

She smiled in return and stopped the flow of chakra. But was it enough? Monday was only a day away, and she was not prepared for the test. The thought sucked the joy out of her face. She looked away to hide her embarrassment.

"Don't worry. Itachi-Sama has extended the tests' date. You've been given two more weeks, along with the rest of the ninjas," he explained. "Rains made the training difficult for a lot of trainees. And many couldn't make it here in time because of the deluges."

Hinata's spirits lifted and a smile broke the melancholy on her face. She lifted her head and looked skyward, but something dampened her spirits, spoiling her happiness: Sasuke had been to the grounds twice today to recruit a few ninjas. He acted as if she was not even there. She wanted him to say something to her . . . be angry with her, show disappointed in her, shout at her even; but his indifference was something her heart could not bear. She turned her head sharply towards the stars glinting in the sky. The glaze over her eyes broke into a single tear. She quickly wiped it away, but Yuu saw it.

She felt his hand on her shoulder. "You'll be fine. It's very normal for people to break down before the tests. I've seen many ninjas run away even. You're a lot stronger than most," he assured her and wore a kind smile.

"Thank you," she said weakly, not wanting to share the burdens of her heart with him. She hated this weakness. She had learnt not to show her humiliation, but this seemed beyond her spirit, her control.

"You'll become a part of the team soon. Sasuke-Sama can be strict, but he makes sure that everyone gets a fair chance," Yuu said and took a drink of his sake.

"You speak highly of him," Hinata said in small voice—a part of her still wanted to know more about him.

Yuu let out a small laugh and scratched the back of his head. "I used to be his attendant. I'm only a year older than him. We used to play as children. He changed a lot after his parents were killed. But he made sure I received education in the academy—make a life for myself, you know?" He took another sip and looked up, lost in thought. "I'm only half Uchiha, you see. Women rarely have Sharingan in the Clan and my mother didn't have one. She belonged to the lower ranks of our clan. She also married into a poor family in Rain village. I was left an orphan in my childhood."

"I . . . I'm sorry," Hinata said and a look of genuine remorse came into her eyes. She never knew the man before her had faced so much and still conquered his life. It gave her hope, strength that she could be him in the future. It was just one of those small moments in life that really touch one and become his anchor: a universal tale of courage and hope in the face of impossible odds.

Yuu shook his head and turned a little to look at her. "No, it's a'right. It was a long time ago. I never knew my parents. Mikoto-Sama took care of me, and after she died, Sasuke-Sama took that responsibility. He paid for my education. Now, I've got a home in the Uchiha village and am his assistant. He worked hard to reduce the caste differences between our clansmen. He's a great man. But we are forbidden to marry outside our clan by law now. Well, you win some, you lose some," he said, smiling as he took a final swig of his sake.

"Really? But why?" she asked hesitantly.

"It divides the Clan's wealth—many clans are greedy for our name. It protects the Sharingan's legacy, too. In the Shinobi world, secrets, bloodlines, and name are everything. It was wise of the council to make this decision. I'm not against it. The young brothers are carrying on the tradition. Maybe Itachi-Sama will change it. But who knows? It's a small matter in my eyes," he said and placed the empty cup down by his feet.

Hinata did not know what to say. He might change it—a cold man like Itachi? She felt her throat burn and it was not from the sake Yuu had just offered her . . .

Days went by quicker than she had hoped. She caught glimpses of Sasuke from time to time, but she was invisible to him. She did not let the painful stabs of his frigid attitude cloud her judgement. She had begun working on her Byakugan skills and had improved them a bit. Every time the day turned into night, she would sit on her bed and look at the bud. The stem had grown a little now. It would take it a few more days to bloom into a purple lily when the moon would grow round and full, high up in the sky.

When the final five days were upon her, anxiety found a terrible home in her heart. Itachi came by as usual. Out of habit or simply to check upon her? She really could not tell. He came to her when the last four days were left and asked her to demonstrate her shuriken skills. She used her Byakugan and threw shurikens close to the middle dot in the bullseye. He was not impressed. He told her of a neat trick to twist her wrist a bit and focus on the middle point with her Byakugan and use Air-Palm together with Shuriken-Jutsu to make it work.

Hinata tried it a few times, and on the fifth try, it pierced the middle. Itachi's face remained blank, and he did not say a word. Everything about him felt mundane and habitual. He came and went pretty much unnoticed on daily basis—life as an Anbu Captain had hardened him. He was just an enigma to her. She could tell that he really despised her because of the affair. It stung her when she thought that he would be happy to know that Sasuke had almost completely abandoned her.

What was she to Sasuke now, an abandoned lover he had discarded? Her lips trembled, and she wept silently in the light of the moon. It was the final night—the fateful night—when her fate would be decided. Yuu had assured her that she would make it as a Genin. She had done all that she could. She really gave it her all. She brought her hands close to her face. The scars of hard work dimmed her fate lines. They would heal come tomorrow, but the wound Sasuke left in her heart . . . would it ever heal? She let out a defeated sigh and left for her room.

# # # # # #

Sun rose up in the sky, high and golden like every other day, but it was not the same for every Man today. Hinata was to be put to the ultimate test. When she stepped out of her room, ready for today's battle, the ground was teeming with ninjas. They were told not to eat anything for the tests. She saw a few men slumped over fallen trees, vomiting a thin stream of yesterday's dinner upon the grass. She turned her head away. It was making her feel sick!

Thank goodness she only felt a little hungry. She had eaten to her heart's content yesterday. Her hunger was conquered. Yuu called her to stand in front of a long line of anxious-looking young ninjas. She did not know what kind of people stood behind her, but she soon found out when Itachi told them that they would get their Genin licenses renewed once they demonstrated the following skills: Shuriken-Jutsu, Ninjutsu, and Genjutsu Kai; body flicker Jutsu and basic Kekkei-Genkai or Hiden if they possessed such abilities; and finally, basic Tai-jutsu manoeuvres.

Sweat broke out on her red face. She was nervous. Itachi called her first to show her Shuriken-Jutsu skills. She was to throw five kunais and five shurikens right in the middle of the ten bullseyes five meters away from her in fifteen seconds. She stood still for a moment to get her wind and took out five shurikens and kunais from the sack. When Yuu told her that her time started, she blanked out for a small part of a second.

It was easier than she expected. She mastered the trick Itachi had told her, and with her Byakugan on, she threw two at a time and got the job done in ten seconds. The kunais and shurikens were pinned to the dot right in the middle. She felt so happy that a broad grin broke her tense face. She looked over her shoulder to find Itachi looking thoroughly bored next to Yuu who was waving at her energetically.

The whole ground was in a state of chaos and people shouted left and right. No Teams were allowed on the grounds today as it was reserved for tests. Everywhere she looked, Jōnins from Anbu squad shouted orders and oversaw the test proceedings. To her delight, Itachi wanted this expedited as he had an official matter to attend to. He combined Ninjutsu, Taijutsu, and Genjutsu Kai for her to test out her bloodline abilities.

For this test, she was pitted against an Anbu Chūnin. Hinata bit her lower lip but steeled herself for the task. She turned on her Byakugan and noticed that controlling her chakra made it easier to manage her reserves and command her body. He took out his wooden sword, a fake for the exams, and charged at her. He was fast, but she had been practising for about a month now. She evaded him with ease, and as he flashed by her, she blocked two of the big chakra points near the joints in his arm.

The arm that held the sword fell limply by his side. A stunned expression came over his face. He grabbed the sword in his other hand and charged again. He was much faster this time. It appeared that he was holding back as he was dealing with a trainee-Genin. He swung the sword with poise and grace, and it was impossible to outmanoeuvre him now. Hinata tried to hit his arm again, but his reactions were so much faster than hers.

He thrust his sword towards her, but she deflected his movement with Air-Palm. It knocked him back, but he landed gracefully on his feet and lunged at her again. Itachi was standing quietly with a blank face. He had not stopped the ninja.

"Itachi-Sama, he's testing her on Chūnin level. This is—"

Yuu fell silent when Itachi raised his hand. He did not understand why Hinata was being tested beyond what she trained for. But the training Yuu put her through was a bit advanced for Genins. He did not say anything more and looked on as Hinata dodged and swivelled around the Chūnin with difficulty, trying to land a single hit on him with everything she got.

He cast a Genjutsu on her, but she had already closed her eyes. Byakugan allowed the clan members to fight blind—its sight went beyond the power of vision; it did not have any effect on her. That gave her a chance. She used body flicker and closed the gap between them quickly and managed to brush her finger against the core chakra point in his stomach. He winced and jumped back, but not before he had knocked her back with all his might. She flew across the wide gap and crashed into the ground, hard.

He had used a large amount of his chakra and released it against a single point on her shoulder. It was dislocated. Propping herself on the right elbow, she bent her head down and vomited; but she did not let the unbearable pain stop her. She raised herself to her shaky feet and knocked her shoulder back into place with Air-Palm. He was not completely unscathed as well. She saw that his chakra network was hit. He looked a little disorientated, his eyes unfocused and weary.

His face was knotted with humiliation and anger. He took the same stance again, but before he could lunge at her for the second time, Itachi spoke, "that's enough." The man stopped, seething with rage. "This is a test, not a battleground. You did not realize you were going well beyond the limits of the test?"

His face caved in upon itself. He was sweating now. "I apologize, Itachi-Sama, I didn't—" he stopped suddenly, looking down at his sandals.

"You people are always in need of supervision—even in tests. I wonder what sort of men throng Anbu division," Itachi said in a calm voice, his face betraying little. "I have already seen all she has to offer. Serizawa."

A man appeared suddenly next to Itachi; his Anbu mask was still in place. "Yes, Itachi-Sama."

"Conduct the rest of the tests with Kai, and bring the report to my office in an hour. I have an urgent matter to attend," he said and looked to Hinata. "Your trial has come to an end. You will receive the result by evening. Vacate the premises. Few other ninjas are coming in from the village near the Capital, and we do not have many rooms to spare."

"B-But," Hinata began and wrapped her fingers around her shoulder, "I can stay in the academy, can't I?"

Itachi slightly tilted his head and looked at her with such a strange expression that was a ghostly mixture of surprise and irritation and disdain. "Things do not quite go here as you wish them to. There are rules for stay on the grounds, and you have already exhausted them. You have a home—you have no purpose here."

Hinata bent her head in disappointment and did not say anything more. He left silently. She raised her head and peered through the thick curtain of her hair flopping against the sweaty forehead to watch him leave from the grounds—his face a delightful visage of emptiness. She wheezed and slumped down onto the ground. The pain in her shoulder was unbearable. She looked at it again. The joint was fine, but the pain had yet to diminish.

Yuu sat beside her and focused his chakra on the damaged tissues. Within seconds, the wounds healed. She thanked him and walked away from the area. She sat on the bench there for several hours, not caring about her hunger or Itachi's words. Home . . . what did it really mean to her? Finally, unable to resist the urge to eat, she went to the dining hall.

The ninja who was to take Hinata's place was already waiting in the dining hall. He was kind enough to let her collect her things. If she were to be honest with herself, then she really did not want to go back. Sasuke had been kind enough to let her stay with him. She stayed for a few days at the academy after that incident. Did she really believe she would be able to escape her home forever? She sighed. No, it was a foolish thought.

She stood quietly next to the sturdy bed. Her bag was packed with meagre things she had brought with herself: a towel and a few kimonos. She did not pack anything her father and husband gifted her. It was her dowry. She hated those colourful kimonos that reminded her of her life as a neglected and shamed woman. These were made by herself during the nights Naruto would leave her for days.

The room was cold. Hinata's eyes and throat burnt, and before she even had the will to silence her young emotions that had yet to be tamed and bent by the will and strength of age, a flare of anger and loneliness beat her to it. She was crying. Her lips trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the tears sting her skin. She had beaten just one hurdle today. How much more would life test her?

Standing alone in that small room, Hinata really had no answer. The small window that opened into the garden of pleasures was closed. Sasuke had left her. Did he really care at all? She would ask him. She had to know. She would find the courage to confront him. If she desired him, then he, too, did not rebuff her. He was just as much to blame as she was—an accomplice in their shameful affair. _Itachi and his self-righteousness be damned!_ His brother was no saint and neither was he.

She brought her fingers to her cheeks and wiped away the tears that had stopped in their odd tracks on her cheeks. She moved her gaze slightly and looked into the garden: the purple lily had finally bloomed. It looked beautiful; the night wind had set it aquiver amid the lush green leaves that danced round it. Moonlight shone over its silky young petals. The flower shivered, its tiny veins silver like pearls.

"I must know—I will know," Hinata said to herself, her voice thick with emotion. Her eyes settled upon the lily still moving in the wind. Then she slung the bag over her shoulder and left the room in silence.

The walk back home was lonely, but the steps were familiar to her. They traced their path with perfection—a path she had followed for four long years from the moors to the heavy doors that trapped her inside for another day. The sounds of trees, owls, and insects filled her head; but the silence inside her was loud. She had no idea when she reached inside her home, the click of the lock behind her breaking her innocent thoughts.

Her eyes wandered around and found nothing out of place. She removed her sandals and put the bag beside the shoe-rack. When she reached her room, a rueful sight greeted her. The water had splashed onto her bed. The kimono she had spread out on her bed to dry had made blue stains all over the white sheets. The painted-lamps had lost all colour and were left colourless by the rainwater. They lay plastered to the floor, ripped and dried up like leaves.

Hinata gave a loud sigh and rolled up her large sleeves. She did not want to sleep in a dirty room. It took her an hour to clean up the whole mess. She tore up the kimono and tossed it into the sunken fireplace along with the ruined paintings. She would make new ones. They were only clothes. When the job was done, she raised her hands to look at her palms. The wounds were healed, and her fate lines appeared clear on her white palms. But her nails were dirty.

Hinata did not really have Miyuki to help her today. She had to make tea and draw a warm bath herself today. When she sat down in the warm water it was past nine p.m. This was the first time she felt that she had truly relaxed. She smiled, thinking that maybe she should go to the village and buy herself some ramen. She liked the spicy one with less pork. The ramen guy would be serving it now.

Stepping out of the bath, Hinata picked out the red kimono she had made for herself last year with Miyuki. It was made to celebrate Naruto's success in one of his missions. She never really went to the celebrations and was left behind to attend to her father's documents.

Hinata put the kimono on enthusiastically and brushed her long hair with great care; she folded them into a bun at the back of her head and stuck two ornamental combs there to make it stand out. She wrapped a crimson obi around her waist and then looked at herself in the mirror. The only thing left was to turn off the stove. Hinata hurried back to the kitchen to turn it off. She had just turned off the burner when a knock came upon the door.

She did not think the result would come out so soon. Her face flushed. Yuu had assured her. He told Hinata that she had given the best performance amongst the candidates vying for the Genin posts. But was it enough to sway the older, more cruel, brother who wanted her gone from Sasuke's life? Another knock came upon the door, and she stammered something incoherent and scrambled to the door. She fumbled with the latch and slid open the door.

Hinata's heart stopped. Why did he have to come, now of all the times, when she wanted to muster up the courage to face him? There on the doorstep stood Sasuke. His face was just as beautiful, in the lantern's whitest light, as she remembered, and his eyes, which told her the yarns of her mistakes, were strange and distant. He appeared emotionless, a scroll held tightly in his grasp. She stepped aside to let him in. So many things . . . she wanted to say so much but words escaped her.

"Your license has been renewed," he spoke after a few seconds, his demeanour calm, lacking the thick exterior she had crafted for herself to hide her turmoil. "I'll send in more details tomorrow about your role in the team. I usually don't keep Genins, but the situation is different now."

"You didn't have to come all this way just to say that," she said, words springing to her lips to say something hurtful to him. His coldness and lack of love for her were driving her mad.

"I could have," Sasuke spoke, his tone unchanged, and his eyes fixed on her as he examined her dress curiously, "but it was wise. After the mistake you made, I think—"

And it was as though his uncaring words had finally pushed her over the edge—she lost that calm. "It was your fault, too!" she spat back at him, her eyes set ablaze with a fire of anger. "Don't blame me for your mistakes. If—if you hadn't sent me, I wouldn't have been humiliated. It's your fault. It's _all_ your fault!"

A small frown creased Sasuke's forehead as he looked at her incredulously. He did not say anything to counter these silly accusations. It was pointless. "I didn't come here to bicker with you like a child," he said calmly and placed the scroll on the shelf, "I'm not your husband."

"N-No, of course not," she said with anger in her voice that rose steadily with each word, "you're my lover. You use me when you feel like it and discard me when you don't need me. Have you ever told your friend that you are sleeping with his wife? I-I wonder what he would think about you."

Silence fell around them, broken by the sharp whistling sounds from Hinata. She stood with her fingers clenched, and her body shook with anger. Her black hair came loose from the perfectly made bun. One of her combs had fallen by her feet. She did not even bother to look down.

"I told you this was a mistake," Sasuke spoke, his voice smooth. Her words seemed to have little effect on him. "You knew what you were getting into. What happened? Did your family find out? I doubt that's the case as you seem to be ready for festivities." A smile disturbed his face, and his eyes twinkled with delight.

"You are hateful, cruel, and unkind," she said, her voice wavering in the heat of emotions. "It's all your fault—it's all your fault—"

Sasuke sighed. "I don't have time for this childishness." He made to turn when Hinata lunged forward and grabbed his arm.

"D-Don't walk away from me!" she shouted, and her voice sounded so unfamiliar to her—young and strained with anguish. "Why didn't you stop me? Why, I-I want to know. Tell me!"

A shocked expression graced Sasuke's face. His eyes locked onto her tear-stained face. Where was she taking this? "What has gotten into you?" he asked, keeping his voice low. "You wanted intimacy—a good time, I assumed. I gave you what you asked."

"You could've stopped me. You knew it was wrong. You're sleeping with your friend's wife, S-Sasuke—" she stopped and wrapped her fingers around the lapels of his office jacket, her fingers shaking now. Words just seemed to pour out of her. What did she want to say? "Why—why didn't you?" She looked up and stared back into his black eyes that kept the blood hidden just beneath them at bay.

"I could have . . . " he said and took in a small intake of breath " . . . but I never thought you'd take it _this_ seriously. It's only sex. I can stop seeing you if it bothers you that much. It's not a very serious matter that—"

Hinata let out a small laugh that startled him. "Is that a-all I am to you?" she asked incredulously, and her eyes turned so red with the flowing of fresh tears. "You toss me away when you don't need me. You had the courage to stop me. You played me. I . . . I hate you."

Sasuke's tongue was shackled to shock that ruthlessly invaded his senses. Would it really be _this_ easy to take her under his wing? No, he would have to hear her say it—say the words that would bind her to him and make this game so easy. So he waited, waited for the right words to tumble out of her mouth before he would take her to the depths of passions and betrayal, from where there would be no escape.

Hinata's grip slackened, and her fingers trembled as her hands moved away from his jacket. Her arms limply hung by her sides. She had to say it to him. What would it be? _Keep the truth from him and lose him forever, or tell him the truth and not weave yet another lie that she simply needed him to satisfy her wants?_ Time was running out—silence mounted upon silence. She had moments to keep him, and standing midst the overbearing darkness of the room, she chose truth.

"I—" Hinata stopped and gathered all of her courage to say it, "—I love you, Sasuke." She raised her eyes timidly to look upon that beautiful, cold visage broken by shock and bewildering disbelief: it was a sight to behold. "Why are you so hateful, w-when I love you? I've always loved you—ever since Naruto threw me away, I've always loved you. You've broken my heart. Why do you break my heart? Tell me?"

Her questioning eyes, misted over by a layer of emotion, gazed up at him and broke the string he had set up for her. A trap . . . and she had fallen in so deep that it was foolish not to taste this surrender and let it go to waste. He bent down and pressed a heated kiss to her lips—his tongue serpentine in her mouth.

Hinata did not know when they made it to her room. Her clothes were abandoned, her body hot under the assault of passions he had denied her for days on end. He worked her hard this time, enjoying the fact that she would always be willing for him to take her. When she climaxed, he turned her over, lay upon her, and pierced her from behind, sinking his teeth into her shoulder as she mewled breathlessly beneath him.

# # # # # #

It was one a.m. when Sasuke made it to the sake restaurant. His brother sat at the corner of the noisy hall. This was celebration night. Several ninjas had passed their exams; they had invited Itachi to celebrate with them. He was not the celebrating type, but he gave in as an act of courtesy. He looked slightly annoyed—Sasuke had kept him waiting.

He slowly made it through the crowd, avoiding everyone, and took a seat opposite Itachi after hastily bowing to him. "I have been waiting here for the past fifteen minutes," he spoke heavily from behind his sake cup. "You clearly have no sense of time . . . or responsibility."

"I apologize, Nii-Sama. I was back—"

"—back from vanquishing married women?" he said coldly. "Shame on you, Sasuke." An unpleasant expression flickered across Itachi's young face for a fleeting second. Then it vanished and he gave out a disappointed sigh. "This girl will be your undoing if her family finds out. I will advise you to cut her loose, but I am clearly the fool in this company."

"Nii-Sama, don't say that—of course you are not." Sasuke leant forward, looking utterly shocked as if Itachi had offended him by calling himself a fool.

"That girl is foolish, and she believes she deserves special treatment because you entertain her whims. And, clearly, you do," he paused and took a sip of his sake, "this tastes bitter." He put the cup aside and folded his arms across his breast.

"Why did you come to this cheap place, Nii-Sama? It's hardly worth your time," Sasuke said and pushed the cup further away from Itachi; then he mimicked his brother as if he could already taste the cheap sake in the cup put before him.

"It seems my advice is not worth your time, either," Itachi said calmly and watched as an innocent frown creased Sasuke's forehead and his cheeks reddened with humiliation.

Sasuke opened his mouth but Itachi forestalled him, "Root will probably look into this Mist affair. Include this profoundly imbecilic Hyūga girl into the matter and they will know you are involved. Is that how you want to play this little shenanigan of yours, pulling strings left and right foolishly to see which one lands a sword on your head?"

Sasuke bent his head down and averted Itachi's heavy gaze. He was in the lecturing mood. It was best to stay quiet. "Honestly, Sasuke, what is the matter with you? Do you want Danzō to come knocking upon your door?" Itachi asked, keeping his voice low.

His younger brother looked up—his eyes flooded with emotions. "And you would aid them? Is that what this is about? You didn't do anything to find about Shisui's sudden death either, Nii-Sama. Am I next on your list to scrutinize for Root's sake?" Sasuke hissed, seeing something stir deep under the shroud of stillness on Itachi's eyes.

"Are you mocking me?" The older brother's eyes blazed without the red, betraying the calm tone of his steady voice.

Sasuke turned his head away sharply. The intensity in his brother's eyes was troubling his sanity. They held the power to pick apart his thoughts and leave him naked. Despite their gentleness, they always terrified him. He closed his eyes and let out a loud sigh. "Forgive me, Nii-Sama," he whispered, his voice barely carrying itself over the din. The noise in the hall was beginning to annoy him.

"Ending the life of all your opponents simply to give yourself a splendid future as a fugitive is not an idea of a happy life you should to aim for," Itachi said and turned the small sake cup between his fingers, "which is why we must proceed with care."

"I wouldn't mind a life away from Konoha with you, Nii-Sama," Sasuke said in awe and bent forward with enthusiasm. He looked like a child.

"If only it was that simple." Itachi smiled and picked up the small cup again to take a sip when Sasuke snatched it out of his hand.

"Don't drink that, Nii-Sama," he said with disgust and threw the cup out of the window. "It could be poisoned—you can trust these scum!"

"It tasted as terrible as poison," Itachi said, looking a little amused. "You did not tell me about the culprit leaking information. I am not that familiar with your team's routine these days."

Sasuke did not reply, and his face changed with irritation at the sight of Sakura. She had walked in with Sai. "I told her not to associate with him," he spoke, "but she would take anyone, as long as it's the next best thing."

"Sakura is quite talented. You let your anger cloud your judgement. She could be useful in gathering information concerning the prisoner," Itachi suggested.

"Her?" Sasuke asked incredulously as if his brother was tired and not in his right mind to weave a coherent thought on such a serious matter. "I might as well just buy myself a grave. I'll bet it's her. She's left no stone unturned to use Tsunade to stay on the Team. And now look at her—dangling on this man's arm out of desperation that I would try to thwart her absurd behaviour just to create a spectacle. She's insane."

"Really? That is quite interesting," Itachi mused and pressed his knuckle to his lips. "How long has she been hanging around this Sensor?"

"A few weeks, I assume. Tsunade gave her several elaborate permissions to train with him and accompany his team as a support Medic. I never authorized it. But I'm a terrible man in her mentor's eyes," Sasuke scoffed and looked away to avert her eyes.

"She has the Hokage under her thumb," Itachi said, "or she enjoys playing favourites—the female touch as I call it."

Sasuke let out a small chuckle. "I never thought something so worthless would pique your curiosity."

"Has it not yours?" he replied. "It should. Do you not find it strange that she is training with a Sensor Squad Captain and the Hokage is authorizing it? I never received any authorization letters. Of course, the Hokage is free to bypass all authority, but to avoid any channel altogether . . . is suspicious."

"Unluckily, I don't have your resources. She could be planning my assassination and I wouldn't know a thing—not till she leaves me to rot out in the wilderness through one of her lazily made concoctions," Sasuke said with a wry mouth.

"So pessimistic," Itachi said, sounding amused. "I will look into this matter."

Sasuke gave a casual shrug of his shoulders and called the serving-man to them. Itachi turned his eyes and looked at Sakura, his expression hard. Something delicious flickered and came alive in his eyes. Few words came to his lips and he whispered, "the next best thing?" The expression on his face faded but its raw intensity hovered in his eyes for a few more fleeting moments . . . before they, too, returned to their blank state . . .

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	21. The Crows Give Chase

**Chapter Twenty-One** : The Crows Give Chase

 **Canon-Manga Info (Viz)** : Only an individual with the " **same blood** " as Itachi and a " **Sharingan** " can fight and fully resist his _**Tsukuyomi**_. Which is why Itachi held back to allow Kakashi to live as he lacks Uchiha blood and Chakra to resist it completely. If he hadn't, then it would have killed Kakashi as Itachi stated that " _ **he could**_ _**only resist this Mangekyō**_ _ **to some extent**_ _,_ " as he possessed the Sharingan. But without their Chakra and blood, it was useless.

Sasuke has the blood, body, and the Chakra to use Sharingan to its full capacity: he's " **genetically adapted** " as Itachi stated. He's a pure-blood Uchiha and is the only one that can resist it completely (Obito or any other Uchiha can, as well); hence, if Itachi had to "hold back" his Tsukuyomi for a Non-Uchiha with a Sharingan (it would kill any Non-Uchiha with a Sharingan/ _Mangekyō_ if used at its full power), then it would kill anyone else without a Sharingan in an instant. Sasuke's eyes (and chakra) are also canonically _more powerful_ than Itachi's and most of his Clan's: a fact mentioned by Orochimaru (and alluded to by Obito) and Kurama quite explicitly in the manga, which gives him a natural ability to overcome it easily. The **Chakra Potency** and **Eyes' Power** difference is something Sasuke will retain in my fiction.

 **Further Info** : Also, Itachi never taught Sasuke anything in the manga, nor did Fugaku (telling people orally to learn Nature and Spatial Transformation isn't training). Keep that in mind. Sasuke learnt Nature and Spatial Transformation and the ability to combine them (a feat higher than A-Rank, as Kakashi stated, as it takes years to acquire and hone this ability) within a week at the tender age of five. This shocked Fugaku as it's a prodigious feat for a child so young.

Read the **End-Notes** as well, which continue this information, but not before reading the chapter as you'll learn of the **'authorial liberty'** I've taken; otherwise, you'll ruin the suspense for yourselves.

# # # # # #

Rain cascaded down his cheeks and fell about him in slow motion as he flashed through the wet forest—a mere green blur to him. Autumn rains were relentless. They did not abate. He was southbound, not easing up his speed. He had received another letter from Mei that asked for his aid in tracking down an S-Class Missing-Nin.

He knew better than to trust her. It was a trap. But curiosity (and impatience, too) was getting the best of him. This was his chance—the chance he had been waiting for. He could still tilt it all in his favour by coaxing something out of her. She was quite fond of him, and if that was what it took, then he was more than happy to oblige.

He expected it to be a day's journey. Suigetsu and Jūgo were sent in ahead of time to make sure Zabuza and Haku were well hidden. If all went well, he would make it back before his brother suspected his absence. He had a few Anbu training missions in the forests and confidential matters to handle. He had his hands full.

He felt the violent and distressing palpitations of his heart. His brother's words were a dull buzzing in his ears now . . .

"Sasuke, I forbid it," he spoke, his face throwing away the soft veil of gentleness, "do you understand? You are not to accept any requests from her."

"But, Nii-Sama, I could—"

"Did you not hear me?" his voice came out colder than Sasuke had expected, and he fell silent almost immediately. "The mess your hopelessly foolish subordinate has created has yet to be cleaned up. Do not make matters worse for yourself."

Sasuke raised his eyes to look upon his brother's face: the soft morning light did not seem to touch the sudden appearance of hardness in his fine features; he sat beyond the large table, his appraising eyes running over him and wandering off to look beyond the window and then returning to look back at him. It was hopeless to argue with him any longer. Silence was always his friend when his brother refused to listen, to lend his ears to his worries. To Sasuke, Itachi was almost . . . whimsical in his display of affections.

"Do not make me any more angry than I already am," he said and Sasuke could almost feel the stinging whiplash of his uncaring tongue. "Do not make this like last time. I am warning you." Then he stood up and walked around the table and Sasuke could do nothing but lower his head and gaze at the smooth wooden-floor. "Leave it be," he spoke coldly close to him, and the matter was closed that day.

There was a curl of childish impishness in his smile today, a look of innocence in his face that passed into boyish purity for a few fleeting moments. He knew time had robbed him of his childhood. If he could, he would turn back the wheels of Time and regain the honour his family lost so brutally; sometimes, he wondered, did his beloved brother even care about his disgraced parents?

Sasuke's mouth twisted down in grief, a look of sorrow coming into his pale face pelted without mercy by the rain. This thought had haunted him for years. His brother avoided this subject as though it was an aberration, a contagious plague that would ruin his reputation. He had to force him into this.

It took time, but little by little, his brother came around. Seeing Sasuke in peril was something he could never stand for. They were always this way even when they were children. Itachi would watch over him when he played in the small clearing outside the Uchiha village.

He was young then, stumbling around helplessly, struggling to stand and find strength in his inexperienced feet. He fell down over and over again and scrambled to his feet to reach his brother, with hands held out from his body . . . calling to him. And Itachi always caught him before he stumbled any more. The struggles against the grasp of childhood and the thrill to tread into the adult life were lovely.

When Sasuke got hasty, he would fall down and skin his knee on the stones. He wailed from pain; Itachi rushed to him in such moments and tenderly tended to his wounds and carried him home on his back. He learnt a lot from his older brother in those days. He learnt to walk, to run, and to make small Shurikens at such a young age. His brother taught him all.

How quickly time passed away. Now, he was a fresh-limbed youth and looking back at that time felt like peering at a disappearing mirage. You could chase and chase it but could never quite catch it. It was that unattainable dream that was nothing more than a hopeless illusion for him now—lost behind the impenetrable gap of Time.

Loss was such a subtle thing that came back with a searing force when old wounds were picked at in earnest to let loose a thick flow of memories—one by one. The rush of them would flood him, snaring his soul and scarring his innocence beyond recognition. Then he would lock them up again, cleaning his consciousness like an expert magician, leaving no mark of that stinky muck.

Ah, the act of locking it up and letting the beast run wild. It was an obscene routine, a savage side of himself he had learnt to embrace, and his brother had learnt to embrace all of him. He loved him for what he was, not what he wanted him to become. At least that is what he imagined . . .

But there were times when he was to be disciplined. When he wavered, he harshly steadied him. He was a shadow behind his every step. Sometimes, he haunted him, forced him into submission. The fear instilled in Sasuke from his illusions was, perhaps, eternal.

His right eye twitched at the sight of a crow sitting up ahead on a branch, thwarting his path. Itachi's name sprang to his lips and darkness descended all around him—a black veil dropped upon his eyes that could see nothing. He put his hand out and crashed into the tree ahead. It did not quite break his forward motion. He toppled sideways and tumbled down, but this time, thankfully, he landed on his feet.

Sasuke jerked his head up to look at the sky blackened by countless of those accursed birds his brother was so fond of . . . crows! They cawed and circled overhead as if he was a rotting carcass they longed to pick and poke at, to take his eye out in sheer delight. He made to draw his weapon when a vibrating, swelling voice startled him.

"So disobedient when I told you to leave it be," Itachi whispered, and his voice bounced off the walls—invisible around them. It was not even a whisper anymore—too potent and heavy it was now. He was already in Tsukuyomi?

Sasuke did not know how to speak: his tongue was heavy in his mouth, and he was too afraid to possess any voice. Wherever he darted his eyes, a bizarre mantle of crows greeted him, flying endlessly into the grey horizon robbed of its hue. The droplets hung in midair, pearl-like and eerie in this world Itachi loved to drag him … for heart-to-heart and cruel punishments.

"N-Nii-Sama," Sasuke whispered and bowed his head. His lips shuddered from fear on his face.

"Finally found your voice? You insolent child," Itachi said from beyond the mist. It parted like obedient sentinels to let him through. He was still in his Anbu uniform and stood upright in that same arrogant posture his body knew by design now.

Sasuke raised his head to peer through the mist—his brother's face waxen and devoid of its usual tenderness. He immediately lowered his eyes, standing under the weight of his older brother's deadly gaze.

"You thought I would never find out?" he asked in a voice that seemed to expand painfully about them: it produced such ghastly effects with its potency.

"N-No, Nii-Sama, I—" he stopped, his voice lost, his tongue unable to chase and catch the words that ran through his mind.

"No, of course you did," Itachi spoke in mock sincerity, "you think yourself to be too clever."

"Nii-Sama, I . . . " He raised his eyes to look at his brother standing about thirty feet away from him.

He blinked and he was staring into the depths of his brother's red eyes a few inches away from his. The searing intensity of Itachi's gaze lowered his eyes against his will, and he lapsed into silence.

"Do not talk back," the voice spoke, floating to him afterwards from Itachi's unmoving lips; his swiftness was ahead of his speech.

"I should lock you in here for a few days to teach you a valuable lesson. You do not seem to respond well to my coddling," Itachi spoke again, and his warm breath fanned out on Sasuke's cool forehead.

Sasuke's throat burnt and his heart thundered. The sounds resonated through his every vein, every sinew, and every part of his mortal coil as though it was a sacred space made to resonate with his brother's sinister sing-song words. This was not the first time he would be punished this way. His brother had a cruel streak, but his unruliness would make him seek out that rebellious nature and let it loose.

He was accustomed to this false sense of freedom, this humiliation at his brother's hands. He acted out: he wanted to be a wild one. The thrill of testing his brother and his own limits had made a masochist out of him. Deep down, he knew this was coming—deep down, his beast craved for this delicious punishment to whip it raw, break its pride so that it could carve out its own with that much intensity—in reaction.

Sasuke was always at odds with himself. That night, wandering amid the scene of human shambles, feet sloshing through blood, had robbed that little boy of his innocence forever. He was gone. Its last whimpers vanished, lost to the night that would never come back again. Itachi's illusions scratched opened the long-forgotten wounds, and his frail resolve crumbled before his brother's own brand of discipline.

His legs buckled under his weight, and he fell down onto his knees. Red bubbled up to cover his eyes in form of a grotesque shield that allowed him a momentary luxury to fight back in a customary manner to break free, even though he did not will for this to happen. They were as instinctively rebellious as he.

He opened his mouth and cried out hoarsely, "Nii-Sama, I-I'm sorry—" He bent his head down, his nose touching the blackened dirt, his hands trembling by his sides—a mere child lost and helpless in illusions.

No sound came from Itachi. He stood over him, and his right hand slightly trembled in the grasp of emotions by his side—to reach out and touch Sasuke whimpering at his feet, begging him to stop this illusion. He clenched it into a hard fist. It had to be done; he needed to be disciplined; it was for his own good. He had already killed Fū out of revenge. How far was he willing to go? Itachi did not desire to see him tread that far.

Itachi had to be his shield, even if it meant protecting him from his own daemons, even if it meant making him suffer a little to halt his steps. Truth was never a necessity, reassurances were. He closed his eyes when he saw blood, flowing profusely from Sasuke's eyes, cruelly fall down on the dirt that drank it up with relish, thirsty for its taste for ages.

Sasuke's entire body shuddered and broke under the weight of his brother's illusion. "Nii-Nii—I can't—I can't see . . . " his voice wobbled with fear when he brought his shaking hands up to his face, his countenance a bizarre mask of red. He could see nothing other than an endless devouring blackness. "I can't s-see!" he spoke hoarsely, blinking rapidly to look around as if searching for a light in the darkness that had fallen over his eyes. His trembling ashen lips dappled red as he stared up with uncertainty in his eyes.

He stood up, his legs shaking under his own weight as if unaccustomed to his youth, still caught in the delightful trap of childhood. "I can't—" he broke off and lurched sideways as though a lost child regaining his balance, "c-can't see. Nii-S-Sama, I can't . . . " His voice was catching in his burning throat. He clenched his teeth, crying—just like a lost, pitiful child. Red flowed unopposed down his neck now, a network of eerie red veins on his white skin.

Itachi turned his head away. He had a black heart, but he could not bear to look upon his brother's visage, ruined by blood, tears, and a thick shroud of fear, any longer. He stood silently in the rain, viciously aloof . . . not moving and letting the terror of darkness consume his beloved brother who tried to wander off deep into the forest in search of his eyes' light: a somnambulist trapped in his own world of wondrous, vicious reality.

He did not make it far and crashed to the ground, exhausted and spent for the day. He had fainted. Itachi slowly walked to him and knelt by his side. He placed his hand on Sasuke's wet forehead and brushed his thumb against his bloodied pale cheek. "Sasuke . . . please, forgive me," he whispered and reached down to pick him up.

The rain had stopped. Itachi looked down to see a few raindrops trace defiant paths through the blood cooling fast on Sasuke's face. Letting out a heavy sigh, he flashed out of the forest with Sasuke . . .

Itachi was done for the day. The missions would have to wait. He sat on the tatami mat, with Sasuke lying on the futon. He had a high fever—a foreseen repercussion of Itachi's actions. Sasuke sighed and moaned in distress. His cracked lips were parted in pain. Itachi had spent the past fifteen minutes wiping clean his breast. The red was gone, leaving behind the redness of the skin where he had used the cotton cloth. Despite Itachi's gentleness, the harshness of the cloth left a reminder of his actions.

Now, only one side of his face was left untouched with the marks of punishment. It looked as if someone had painted that half as a crude joke. Itachi found no humour in it. That sight of it . . . it pained him to no end. He squeezed the cloth, which was submerged in a small pail of cold water before, and placed it on Sasuke's cheek.

Sasuke hissed and felt a sudden assault of biting chill in his hot skin. He was out of strength—a fainted youth lying helplessly under the covers, unaware of being wiped clean like a child, and cleansed at this point in adulthood of the venial sins he defiantly committed out of the vacillating rhythms of his precarious nature. True as it was, it was dangerous, even for himself.

"Itachi-Sama, I—" Yuu stopped and drew up short at the sight before him: Itachi wiping away the red marks on the side of Sasuke's face. "Itachi-Sama, w-what happened? Is he—"

"Let me worry about my brother," Itachi cut him off in his usual flat tone of voice. The subject was closed. "Did you bring what I asked of you?"

Yuu's curious eyes wandered slightly towards Sasuke, but Itachi's deep, disapproving gaze pulled them back to him. He nodded absentmindedly and stretched his arm to give the scroll to Itachi. "It's just like you suspected, Itachi-Sama. She's been going on missions with Sai's Team," he began and clasped his hands behind his back, "and without Sasuke-Sama's knowledge."

"Twenty-five S-Rank missions . . . " Itachi spoke in a low voice and ran his lazy eyes down the scroll. "So many and without Sasuke's approval—why?" he asked himself, deep in thought. A subtle expression of curiosity changed his countenance. He looked up at the lantern overhead that glowed with an eerie light. A pink moth fluttered around it, eager to meet its death on the flame.

"I asked Serizawa to eliminate the chakra from the Hokage's office as you asked. Karin went with him to make sure nothing remained behind," Yuu said and cast his gaze upon Itachi's Anbu jacket that lay discarded beside him. His sword was sticking out from beneath it, catching the red glow of the lantern. It gave the illusion of a heated metal that had yet to meet cold water (to give it a good temper).

"You may leave," he whispered in such a mellow voice as if making sure it would not rouse Sasuke. Yuu bowed down and left silently. He brushed Sasuke's hair aside and pressed his thumb into his cheek lovingly. Yes, he was such a child . . .

"Look, Sasuke," he broke off and gently pried Sasuke's right eye open with his thumb and forefinger, "an autumn moth. You like them, don't you?"

He bent his head down till his lashes touched Sasuke's: his _Mangekyō_ _Sharingan_ pulsed to life and gripped Sasuke's senses in his sleep, his hair cascading around his brother's pale face like a curtain. A tear sliding down Sasuke's cheek slowed down, obstructed by the sluggishness of Time. In the dream, his voice lost its potent nature and changed into that from a boy's mouth. "Look, Sasuke," he said and stopped dandling a three-year-old Sasuke and pointed at the moth flying just above them, "an autumn moth. You like them, don't you?"

Sasuke hopped off his knee and leapt up to catch it, but it was so far away from him. "Look, it's going for purple lilies—your favourite," he said with a smile and picked Sasuke up in his small arms. He, too, was only eleven. His let out a small laugh and rested his head against Itachi's breast and looked out towards the vast field of purple lilies set aquiver by the pleasant autumn wind.

Itachi wiped away Sasuke's tear, his forehead pressed against Sasuke's, and his eye held its powerful gaze, his lips still moving. "Look, it's going for purple lilies—your favourite." An innocent laugh rumbled in Sasuke's throat, and his dry lips quivered with a smile—just like a child, sleeping and dreaming a beautiful dream . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN - Canon-Manga Info** : Sasuke, because of the aforementioned canon-factors, easily broke **Tsukuyomi** when he fought Itachi, as mentioned in the Databook and the Manga, using his **Three-Tomoe-Sharingan**. The myth of ' **Itachi held back** ' is fan perpetuated nonsense and is completely non-canon as Sasuke was meant to break it since **part I** by Itachi's own admission. In fact, Sasuke put Itachi under Genjutsu several times (during the course of the battle, which Zetsu spoke of) quite successfully.

Most of the battle at the start between them actually took place in Genjutsu, especially Itachi over-speeding Sasuke to kick and overpower him: that was all Tsukuyomi and it can be easily ascertained because Sasuke was standing right at the same spot when he broke out of Tsukuyomi before Itachi kicked him back to the wall in Genjutsu. It's rather elementary logic, really; and it's mentioned quite explicitly in the manga by Zetsu, and he's a powerful Sensor, only beaten in this skill by Sage-of-the-Six Paths-Senjutsu using Naruto.

However, I have reduced Sasuke's ability to fight **Tsukuyomi** quite drastically, which means that Itachi's Genjutsu ability's received a major power boost that's very **non-canon** in its approach. Despite possessing the **Eternal Mangekyō Shari** **ngan** , Sasuke isn't capable of fighting off Tsukuyomi . . . _for now_. You'll have to wait and see as to whether he'll be able to resist it or not in the future. I'm well aware that the power differences (the abilities I've not taken away from Sasuke) will create an ' **intentional paradox** ': but it'll be an interesting ' **paradox** ' to write about.

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	22. Taking on the Team's Charge

**Chapter Twenty-Two** : Taking on the Team's Charge

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Autumn rains came and went and jagged rocks near the shore got glazed with a layer of slime in their wake. A thick green layer encrusted their top like lush grass—lake water cracked their surface and left them withered. The fragile air dispersed as he breathed out a loud sigh, his warm breath coming out as white wisps.

His feet navigated amongst the thousands of grey pebbles on the shore that seemed to run up north for more than a kilometre. His blue eyes deepened into sapphire as mist rose up from the water. He wrinkled his nose and sneezed loudly: autumn always made him allergic, or maybe it was that damned fungi he touched earlier out of curiosity. He even smelt it.

He flashed his blue eyes on the girl standing not far away from him. His face had that impatient look. "How long do I have to do this?" he shouted louder than he should have and clenched his fingers to stop the chakra flow to his right hand. The Rasengan fizzled and disappeared. Lightning fulminated overhead, and a sudden surge of wind disturbed the calm surface of the lake, breaking the mist.

"We should go to the house, Karin," Neji said and put a hand over his head to shield himself from the light drizzle. "Sasuke-Sama said that he shouldn't push himself."

"Stop treating me like I'm a child," Naruto said over the mellow shush of wind, "I can hear you, a'right?" He jerked his head away in a huff.

"Naruto, I'm just—"

"Quiet, Naruto," Karin cut across Neji and fingered her glasses, "I'm tired of your nagging. We're going to do what Sasuke said. It's almost evening, and you've made some progress today. Pick up your little bag—we're done for the day."

Naruto fixed his angry deep-blue eyes on her. "And where's Sasuke? He hasn't come here for nearly a week," he paused and breathed in loudly. "I've got to talk to him about something . . . "

"Sasuke-Sama's on leave," Neji explained and jumped down from a large boulder. "He won't be back on duty for a while."

"Did Itachi say that?" Naruto asked, and a faint emotion flickered across his face, but he guarded it well.

"Yes, he's the head of the Squads, after all. He simply told us that he'll be handling some of Sasuke's missions," Neji said and shoved his hands into his pockets. Naruto turned his head away. "Someone had put you under a powerful Genjutsu. We don't even know who did that and why. You need to stay calm."

"I'll bet he said that," Naruto mumbled; Neji's words fell on deaf ears as he did not seem to have heard anything he said afterwards. He was in a pale rage, soft whiskers on his cheeks standing on ends. His chest tightened, something wriggled inside, but the feeling subsided quickly.

Karin narrowed her eyes. The seal was almost done, but he was slipping again because of that erratic temper. Sasuke had spun a simple story of a Genjutsu. Naruto and Hinata did live on the outskirts. Some ninjas attacked him and took a few scrolls. It was a simple story; Neji was told to treat this in an official manner.

Karin jumped down and scanned the area. She could not sense anything for more than ten kilometres in all directions. They were in the clear. Thunder rumbled again. She cast her pinkish eyes on the small house just beyond a cluster of trees. Their naked branches shook and shivered when wind touched them; it had not been kind to their young.

Sasuke and Itachi used this house when they travelled further North to hunt. It was small and clean and had a garden at the back. It had enough tools for Neji and Karin to use—just in case someone found them. Its roof was cracked through by so many wisterias crawling out of tiny crevices and gashes. Rains lashed it good.

But the roof had a waterproof material underneath, so they were safe till Sasuke would get furious over the slow speed of repairs. Her lips curled down in a deep scowl. Sasuke had left her in quite the mess. Whoever was stirring that thing inside of him wanted him to lose control and die. She walked to Naruto and Neji, her sandals sinking into the mud.

She scanned the area again, her senses hitting the forms of each animal she could find. There were several birds sitting about on the sparse branches some a hundred feet away. The forest was quiet, and disturbed by the rain, it gave an illusion of being alive. Naruto was still protesting. Neji was far too patient, she thought.

"I'm just saying—" Naruto protested again and raised his hands into the air.

Karin cut across him in a sharp tone of voice, her fingers squeezing her arms: "pick up your bag, Naruto. We're leaving."

Naruto turned around to face her, his face contorting in rage, his teeth clenching . . . she was just pushing him over the edge. "You're not my boss," he hissed and she saw something ripple his features in the subtlest of ways, but it got defeated. "Stop ordering me around."

A smile broke Karin's face. The seal was done. She turned her gaze slightly on Neji who was staring at Naruto with a bit of disbelief on his face. These temper tantrums were new for him, but it did not really matter—as long as they were ahead of the game, it was just a matter of playing their cards right.

Karin touched her glasses out of habit again and looked through the raindrops coursing down the frame of her glasses. "You've regained quite a bit of control over your chakra," she began and took three short breaths to warm up body, "that's really enough for the day. Don't push yourself. Take it slow."

Naruto brought his gaze upon her, an unfriendly gaze, but he did not say anything. He grudgingly picked up his bag and marched to the house. Neji stared after him. He had a pink-ish hue in his cheeks now—he did not seem to like the cold. "I've never seen Naruto this upset," he paused and squared his shoulders and rubbed his hands together as though he was nervous, "I wonder when Sasuke-Sama will get back. I need to know what kind of Genjutsu it was."

He had an air of uncertainty about him, and then he slowly walked behind Naruto. This was not going as smoothly as Sasuke had planned. The seal had blocked out the chakra inside of him from his Byakugan—a secret to his eyes—but how long would this seal last? Karin frowned. She had never made anything like this before. They had just crossed the first hurdle.

The weight of uncertainty weighed down heavily upon her heart. The feeling only compounded. She did not think much of it and cast a reassuring gaze to the lake, as if it was her secret companion, and followed Neji.

# # # # # #

Hinata had not seen Sasuke for a week—standing under the roof of the Uchiha manor only made her realize that even more. Itachi had asked the Team members to bring their reports in. Sasuke had left a lengthy mission and duty-roster for the whole week. She went on her first mission with Yuu, together with two more members, to the border as a guard for an official from the Capital.

It was much better than last time. Her eyes proved to be a valuable asset in Neji's absence, who had gone off on a mission with Karin and Naruto. She had not seen him for more than a week. She breathed out loudly and looked at the red light, spilling from an old lantern on Itachi's office-table, overpower the shadows around it. The black barely touched the colour as though ceding its territory to it.

Itachi's table was neat—perhaps a little too neat. Every little item was arranged perfectly. There was not a brush, not a scroll out of place. Presently, a scroll lay open on it with a brush rolling back and forth over its unfinished lines. A light breeze had snuck in and was making it restless. He seemed to have left it in a hurry.

Behind the small table was a towering rack filled with scrolls. It cast a long band of shadow in front that was broken in half _just_ above the red light. She wanted to sit down on the cushion by her feet but chose to stand. Itachi preferred to sit on the tatami mat—a tradition his family upheld to this day.

A sudden powerful burst of wind moved the bamboo outside, and it smacked itself against the rocks above and below it, putting out dull sounds repeatedly. It suddenly stopped moving. Hinata moved her gaze away from the closed window, stared down, and scratched her right foot with the left. Then she lifted her eyes and looked at the clock above the rack: she had been standing here for the past thirty minutes.

She took one step forward and placed the scroll on the table, stealing a tiny glance at the scroll. Sakura's name caught her eye, but she backed away quickly when she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. The sound of steps faded away, replaced by the dull whistling of the wind.

Dull sounds wafted to Hinata, faint and indistinct. She strained her ears and tiptoed to the door. Then she pulled at the door till it was slightly ajar and pressed herself against it and listened. She caught the sounds of voices again; only this time, they made it to her ears, unobstructed by the door.

"Sasuke, you are still so warm," Itachi's mellow voice came from beyond the door down the corridor. "Just drink this. It will ease your pain." After a slight pause, the sounds came again. "You are such a child. What am I to do with you? Why do you not listen to me? I am . . . remorseful for what I have done. Please, forgive me."

Hinata could not hear what Sasuke said in reponse. She immediately backed away and stood before the table when she heard Itachi close the door; his footsteps grew closer and louder with each step. Not a moment passed and the door swung open. Itachi's usual emotionless face greeted her, but this time, there was a strange fire in his eyes as they fell upon the pale contours of her face made hazy by the shadows; and despite the missing red marks of his clan, she saw something stir in them for her: hatred?

Hinata hastily bowed and muttered a greeting that was met with the usual icy silence. When she looked up that look had vanished. "Why are you still here?" he asked quite suddenly and walked around the table. "Your office hours are over." He grabbed his Anbu jacket, hanging from a nail on the side of the rack, and looked at her.

"Y-Yuu," she paused and thoughtlessly smoothed down the wrinkles on her jacket, "he asked me to give you the scroll."

"I am sure he asked you to leave the scroll on my table," he stopped and pulled his hair out from beneath the jacket, now fastened to his narrow waist by a few buckles—a typical Anbu jacket. His, however, had an Anbu Captain's mark on the back. "I have a few matters to attend. You may leave." With that, he cast her _such_ a cold gaze and walked out of the room in silence.

It was said that curiosity killed the cat, and Hinata wanted to be that cat today—satisfaction brought it back, too. Turning on her Byakugan, she saw the exquisite Uchiha chakra burn and course through Itachi's veins as he walked out of the front gate.

There was no one in his house, and just beyond the door lay Sasuke—his chakra a matted mess. Hinata did not need to turn her head to see one servant attending to the dishes in the kitchen. She cautiously walked towards the door, each step, a slow and deliberate struggle against her own nerves. If Itachi came back . . . who knew what he would do.

He told her to leave, but damn that curiosity and desire; she was such a weak master of her passions. She opened the large door, and a mass of golden light poured onto her. It was a very large room: beautiful partition screens stood behind the lanterns and delicate paper windows wore shadows like clothes.

There was a table put next to the partition screens. It had the same bizarre neatness to it. She turned off her Byakugan and looked at the thick, quilted Kakebuton; it was the most beautiful one she had ever seen, and beneath it, lay Sasuke. It was a traditional sleeping bed made with a set of shikibuton and makura. Itachi was an austere man. It did not surprise her that he and Sasuke preferred to live this way. Her own family did, too.

This was Itachi's room. Turning around, she walked backwards and looked at the scroll paintings in the alcoves. One of the designs had a mischievous lightning deity dancing in the rain. Hinata spun around and gazed upon the neatly arranged piles of scrolls in the racks. Right next to the futon was a small table: a pail of water was placed on the side, and a damp cotton cloth hung from its handle.

Hinata sat down next to Sasuke and looked at the small cup. A few sips of a colourless liquid were left at the bottom. She brought her eyes upon Sasuke: he was drawing short, quick breaths, and his right hand lay trembling over his heaving bare breast; his cracked lips had countless red cuts; red stains dappled the sides of the white pillow, too. He looked so weak and so vulnerable, with a sheen upon his forehead and a look of pain in his face.

She had never seen him this way. In that small moment, gripped by thoughts of lust and passion, she leant down and caressed his damp, hot cheeks with her lips, planting light heated kisses along the side of his jaw; then her greedy lips found his, and she kissed him deeply and relished the fleeting scent and bitter rosy taste of medicine still on his tongue. Her fingers fluttered lovingly across his neck and shoulders, mapping a path along his collarbone and over the trembling, heated skin upon his flesh. His vulnerability was so beautiful—so new.

When Hinata pulled away, his lips were left so red, full of blood and the heat from her kiss. A red tear trailed down his cheek in answer, bringing out a look of fear on her face. Quickly, she grabbed the cloth and wiped it away. Sasuke's eyes flew open, blazing with the Eternal patterns of light.

Hinata staggered back when he sat upright with lightning fast speed. She did not even know when he moved, and she found herself being lifted off the ground, her throat in his tight grasp. He threw her back, and she skidded across the floor and got knocked against the wall. "S-Sasuke?" she asked, her voice bathed in disbelief and fear.

He staggered on the floor, still so frail from fever, his usual veneer of composure and cunning shattered by an exquisite mingling of fear, anger, and hatred. "You . . . " he hissed out and stopped with a heart-shuddering, pained groan, slapping his hand on the side of his face to cover his right eye: it seemed to cause him great pain. "You … your fath—you ruined my—" Blood spurted out, runny and quick, from between his fingers that dug painfully into his temple as though searching for his face. He let out a sharp hiss and slumped to the wooden floor, only to defiantly stand up again with immense speed.

Lightning chakra fizzled on his left hand, and it turned into his signature technique: Chidori. He rushed to her, an indistinguishable blur; Hinata let out a loud scream and covered her eyes. "Sasuke, stop," Itachi's voice made her open her eyes. He stood between Sasuke and her, Sasuke's left hand in his firm grasp, his right pushing him back. "Put it out. Calm down."

Chakra came alive in his right hand, and he shot it forward with frightening speed. Itachi was fast. Itachi grabbed Sasuke's right hand, but a spear shot out from the tip of the radiating chakra. He hit Sasuke's arm with his elbow. The spear went through the wall an inch away from Hinata face and travelled zig-zag at erratic angles to the right, tearing through more the half of the room's walls. Hinata's lips trembled. It was happening so fast!

"Sasuke, put it out. Listen to me," Itachi spoke with difficulty, sweat dribbling from the tip of his chin. His office sandals slipped back on the smooth wooden floor and squeaked loudly: his whole body was thrust forward to keep Sasuke at bay. Sasuke's hands trembled in his grasp, and his eyes bled badly. "Sasuke, stop. Please, listen to me. Listen to your brother. Calm down." Sasuke was so frail already. Using Genjutsu on him now . . . Itachi did not even want to think about it. Words were all he had. He did not want to hurt Sasuke; he did not want to risk it.

Despite the buzz in Hinata's ears, they did not miss the note of urgency in Itachi's voice. What was happening to Sasuke? She crawled to the right; her back was pressed hard against the ruined wall, as if she was hoping for it to swallow her. "Get away from me," Sasuke hissed, the character of his features carrying the profound marks of fear.

With great strength, which Itachi did not think he even possessed, he pushed him aside and rushed again—a shadow. Itachi moved faster and grabbed both of his hands as he charged his chakra again. He squeezed his wrists with strength and snuffed out the noisy blue charge. "Sasuke, listen to me. I am not going to hurt you. You have my word," he assured him and twisted Sasuke's wrists a little as the chakra rekindled on the tips of his bloody fingers. "Just calm down," he added, assuaging his brother's fears. Then he twisted Sasuke's wrists some more to stop the flow.

Sasuke let out a hiss of pain and slumped down to the floor, his wrists painfully twisted in Itachi's hands. His fingers contorted into claws, trembling like that of a convulsing man. The chakra refused to go out. Despite being so ill, he put out a massive Raiton charge from his body. The thick layer of impenetrable composure cracked on Itachi's face. His lips trembled as the charge ran through his body.

He let out a small sound of pain and slowly sank to his knees. If he had not been a master of chakra control himself, it would have stopped his heart and killed him. Sasuke's hands were still held tight in his. His grip slackened and Sasuke pushed him back. His sandals skidded on the floor, and he steadied his body to catch his balance. His body trembled, the powerful surge of current messing up the signals from his nerves—his body, a wonderful bundle of pain.

Hinata's eyes were wide open, her mouth hanging open in mid-scream as another blur rushed at her. Itachi moved faster, grabbed hold of Sasuke, and pushed him against the wall. Sasuke broke free again. The whole room appeared as though a theatre with a spectacle of blurs running all over the place that stopped at moments to capture the slow motion of Sasuke struggling to break free of Itachi's grasp . . . against the wall, on the floor . . . Itachi finally managed to restrain him and pushed him against the wall. He pressed his fingers against Sasuke's brow to push his own chakra through his damp skin, to make him lose consciousness.

"L-Let me go," Sasuke said in a shaky voice, his eyes disorientated as he gasped for air, his right hand pulling Itachi's hand away from his face but to no avail. He was too weak.

But he mustered all of his remaining strength and pushed Itachi back and vanished through the door. "Sasuke," Itachi called out behind him. He was breathing heavily. He started for the door but stopped and turned his face—marred by such wintery rage—to her, his eyes two cups of malice.

"You," he let out a frigid sound that sent a shiver through Hinata's whole body, "leave. Now."

A kunai shook in his right hand, his body indecisive. Hinata scrambled to her feet and ran out. She did not stop till the walls of her empty house did not greet her. It was one of the few moments in life when she felt safe there.

Itachi chased Sasuke through the forest and stopped at the sight of thousands of purple lilies growing and shining under the full moon. It looked as if a current of air was moving through a silken cloth and rippling its surface in the meadow. Sasuke lay in the middle, nearly obscured by countless swaying flowers.

He took slow steps and sat down beside Sasuke's convulsing form. Sasuke's eyes seemed to look at something beyond him, his lips moving and repeating the same words over and over again: "autumn moth . . . going for purple lilies . . . moth … . . going for purple lilies . . . " The older brother, not used to an open display of emotions, pressed his knuckle to his lips and there was remorse on his face.

It was easy to take Sasuke back home. He was delirious and exhausted when Itachi put him to sleep. By the time he reached his Anbu office, it was nearly twelve a.m. He had changed his clothes and looked as emotionless as before. He had a trick to these things, but he was not the sharing type. His eyes fell upon Sakura who sprang to her feet when he stepped into the office.

"Itachi-Sama," she said lowly and gave a quick bow of her head.

"I hope you brought your papers along as I do not really have the time to entertain another mishap today," he said coldly and occupied the chair across the table from her.

"Y-Yes," Sakura said, her face a little pink from embarrassment.

Itachi took the scroll from her hand and read out the details. "You have been learning to become a Sensor by taking assistance from the Sensor-Squad Captain, Sai? May I inquire the reason as you have done so without my brother's knowledge?" he asked and leant forward to put his elbows on the finely polished surface of the table.

"How did—" Sakura stopped, her face breaking out in sweat.

"When an Anbu Captain requires mission-assistance from any shinobi, their records are divulged by the Hokage. I hope you did not think this would remain a happy little secret," he spoke from behind his tangled fingers, his eyes as blank as his face.

"N-No, Itachi-Sama," she stammered and rubbed her fingers together.

"That is very nice. Otherwise, I would have assumed you to be a foolish little girl," he said in a voice laced with authority. "Kindly, bring your tools along tomorrow. You will be assisting me on a mission."

"But Sasuke left a—"

"I am handling Sasuke's missions for a few weeks," he cut across her, "it would be for the best if you did not question and simply obeyed." He looked up to see a slow shiver crawl up from the base of her legs.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out nervously and gave a hasty bow. "Please, forgive me."

"You may leave," he said in a flat tone of voice and watched as she left the room with an uncertain gait. He did not hold his gaze long and leant back into the chair. "Learning to become a Sensor . . . " he said softly to himself and then stretched his hand to put out the candle still burning on his table . . .

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	23. The Tides Change

**Chapter Twenty-Three** : The Tides Change

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Red stared down at her face. So close, as if filling the space between them. Then he backed away, and the room waxed into existence before her eyes, his face gaining the clear contours, hazy and obscure before. Calm, yet slightly pallid today, his face was still so like his younger brother's that it haunted her even when she was wide awake.

When he spoke, a cold voice came from his lips, venomous words tripping from his tongue: "it is just a little mark. You should grow a thicker skin Shinobis are accustomed to." He stretched his hand and moved her hair aside to look at her bruised neck again, red fingerprints left on the white throat—like wings of a butterfly pinned to the wall. "It will heal itself." He brushed his finger slightly against the healed scab, drawing a sharp hiss out of her, and then he drew his hand back.

"Itachi-Sama, I . . . " Hinata whispered, unsure of what to say, and fell silent again as a set of helpless tears threatened to fall from her eyes. Sasuke attacked her, even if she had told him of her love—her unconditional love. Her lower lip shuddered, and she felt a hard knot of pain in her heart. He really did not care . . .

"You came in late today," Itachi spoke slowly and folded his arms across his breast. Her worries were not enough to thaw the stone-cold his body was sculpted from. "Perhaps you are taking advantage of the leverage you have?"

She raised her head, confusion settling itself upon her face. "I don't under—" she stopped and looked beyond the shaft of a weak light of autumn sun coming in through the window to the right.

"Do not try to play innocent. You know why you were kept and under which circumstances you regained your position. There is little reason for me to make you recall any theatrical show of your mishaps," he said, the rancour of his words hidden behind the workings of his sweet tongue.

Hinata felt humiliated. Her cheeks burnt raw with embarrassment. It was no surprise that he loathed her with passion. No matter how smooth his face, no matter how controlled his passions, his words were enough to shame her. She raised her gaze a little to look at the same uncaring visage of arrogance stare back at her—unflinching and unsympathetic. But there was no use arguing with the Captain of all Jōnin squads. No, even she was not _that_ foolish.

"You have gained so much arrogance overnight that a small explanation and an apology seem to be beyond the horizon of your reasons?" he asked in the same flat tone as if it was a tangible leech that remained glued to his tongue, feeding off his arrogance to give off more arrogance and venom in delicious, rippling waves.

"I—" Hinata paused, and her heart tripped like a bird in a deathly trap, "I . . . I was afraid. Y-Your brother—he nearly killed me yesterday!" She grasped her breast with both her hands as if stopping her heart from making it out of her body. That rebellious thing that made her lust beyond reason for Sasuke; it was never truly under her control. She staggered back to catch her breath as if something knocked the wind out of her.

Itachi stepped through the shaft, and it parted as though obedient curtains that flowed to the rhythms of a cool morning breeze. He rolled up his right sleeve and showed her a thin scar that ran all the way up his arm before disappearing under the sleeve.

"I got this scar when I was fourteen," he explained and moved his fingers over the scar as if evoking long forgotten memories left behind in the ugly marks of old stitches. "It was during one of my missions. The enemy nearly wrested my arm off. He could have succeeded had I not been swift. One misstep can only throw you so far down. I can even lift my shirt and show you few more on my breast. But this is not an exhibition and nor are we that . . . intimate." He shook his sleeve over his healed injury and regarded her with impassive eyes.

"But—" she began breathlessly, her eyes brimming with tears now.

"But? Is that your defence for your insulting, unbecoming, and arrogant attitude?" he asked, his voice thick with anger, yet smooth and unchanging. "With whose permission did you cross the boundary of my room to disturb my ailing brother? You were told to leave, yet you, it seems, have taken it upon yourself to cross me, disobey me, and show me a persistent display of your ever-inflating ego—repeatedly," he spoke, and his exquisite eyes glimmered with the fierce hot fires of Sharingan that revealed the fury of his pride and passion.

"Itachi-Sama, t-that's not true—" she stammered like a child and squirmed under his hard-as-stone gaze.

"Is it not? You have such a leverage over me that you think yourself to have me under your little thumb," he paused and created a fake smile on his face that merely made a small crack in his hard countenance, "well, let me make something very plain, Hyūga girl, I tend to prune the branches that cause me worry." He stepped away from her and leant back against his large office table.

Hinata's eyes grew wider; her eyes misted as a layer of tears came across them. She blinked and felt them crawl down her face. Her cheeks were itchy. She hastily raised her hand to wipe them away. "I-It won't happen again—I promise you," she said in a small, sincere voice and gave a bow.

"If only your sincerity had any merit. It is as fickle as a greedy man's pride," he said and pressed his finger to his lips, thinking. "Kindly, do not bring up that little mishap in front of my brother. He does not need to know anything."

Colour flew from her lips. He could not be this cruel, this unjust, and this blind to his love for Sasuke? "You c-can't be serious? Your brother could've killed me. And yet you—you ask so much of me, Itachi-Sama," she whispered the final words and bowed her head to hide her anguish.

"I find it quite fascinating how you ask for so much and have so little to offer—other than your persistence to shame my brother," he said in a frigid voice; he cared little for her troubles. In fact, he did not care for her at all. She could rot in the darkest pits of his gaze's hell for all he cared. "He attacked you because he was delirious and ill. He thought you to be someone else. The Sharingan can play tricks on the mind if its chakra is disturbed."

"He thought I was . . . someone else?" she said in a small voice to herself, her face growing uncertain.

"There is no need to repeat things after me. It is a simple matter," he said, his eyes upturned to look beyond the large window at the first autumn flowers blooming on the trees standing in the well-kept lawn. A few workers hewed the wood and were cutting some parts in short sawing motions. The higher-ups were building a new office for the Anbu division: it would be completed in a few months and he would shift there. This building was to be attached to the medical division in the coming months—one of the many expansion projects sanctioned by the higher-ups.

"I don't u-understand," she spoke, her voice timid, and her shoulders slightly stooped as if bent from his weighty gaze.

"There is nothing to understand. Forget what happened. Had you not ventured into the room, my brother would never have been roused from his peaceful sleep. You suffered through your own foolishness. He attacked you because he did not know you in that moment of unfortunate delirium. Shoulder the blame. It would be a healthy change of pace from your steely spine's natural routine that never bends out of the need to remain arrogant," he said and clenched his jaws, softly, as if on the verge of speech, but he did not say anything, waiting for her to say something foolish so he could bruise her again with a few cutting retorts.

"But what if he asks—attacks me again? I-I can't, Itachi-Sama—I can't!" she protested, and her eyes roamed on his face that naturally mimicked his brother's features with near perfection: a curse from nature.

"Let me tell you a little story," Itachi began and straightened his spine, "there was once a talkative monkey who spoke of things that got others into a lot of trouble. When the news reached the king, he sent out some men to deal with him. Months passed and no one heard any of his foolish stories. You know why?" he whispered and came closer, his face hidden behind the mask of ghastly emptiness, clinging to the approaching paroxysm of a sensation that twitched just a few muscles around his mouth with the final thrums of another passion. "He had no tongue."

Hinata's eyes grew wider: her face was losing the last colours of life. Sweat oozed out of her pores, and her body shuddered with the near exquisite urge to make itself known to her: it was still alive! The shuriken pattern in Itachi's eyes vanished, and he backed away—slowly. "Carry out the mission Sasuke left you. You are to make it to the border with Yuu and two more Chūnins and meet up with Suigetsu and Jūgo. Sasuke sent them alone. They might need some assistance. You can leave now," he said and turned around to pick up his sword from the table.

She did not need to be told anything twice. Somehow, she found the strength and resolve in her body to bow before him like a dutiful soldier; then she left in silence, her heart thundering inside her as though it just suffered a near miss from being nipped by the hound of hell . . .

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Sunlight floated over the grey mist and it carried it like an enthralled lover—the sounds of the release of her pent-up breaths sawed the still air. Sensing was taking a lot from her strength. This really was not her forte. Itachi did not exactly appear all that amused. A small crease disturbed his smooth brow; his face always fought vehemently against the nasty intrusions of emotions. "How long have you been learning?" he asked, his voice several degrees colder than the indifference in his expression.

Her mouth, snapped shut like an iron-trap in concentration, parted to speak, "I think you know, Itachi-Sama." She bent her eyes, making them crawl unnecessarily around her sandals.

"Your humour is rather childish—or you simply adore bypassing etiquettes? Sasuke really coddles you all a lot. Sometimes, his leniency surprises me," he said and reached to his back to pull out three kunais—each wedged between two fingers.

She began to nervously pet and pat her Chūnin Jacket. She wanted to speak, but the resolve to will her mouth to say something brash before this man was . . . _terrible_ idea. He flicked two of his fingers and signalled her to get behind him. His eyes, still looking over his shoulder, urged her to use her _sensing_ again—even though she was holding onto the final threads of her chakra.

Sakura did not falter, pointed two fingers up, and concentrated on the spot beyond a thick clump of bushes about seventy feet away. The dry leaves stirred and Itachi threw three kunais at the tree to the right. They ricocheted off the bark and speared sharply inward. An agonizing howl rent the cold air. Itachi suddenly vanished and appeared at the spot where the ninja was hiding.

His Sharingan was still on. Sakura ran behind him and stopped short of the body. Her eyes fell upon the man's face: his forehead was stabbed with all three of them; his face had contorted and frozen with his last battle against pain. He was dead. Her eyes travelled up to Itachi's face, who seemed to be examining the chakra as if on the verge of some amazing discovery. She did not understand why he even needed her when the Sharingan was capable of breaking through the boundaries of such distances.

She let out a loud sigh and lowered her defeated eyes. It was some sort of test . . . and she failed quite miserably. Did Sasuke put him up to this? Her face trembled with rage, and she pressed her lips together to bite back the curse words she had in store for him. He was used to humiliating her. He liked to break her pride and remind her how frigid his body was, which could not be affected by love—certainly not hers.

Sakura was beginning to feel like a frail fish that tipped and writhed on the shoreline, just inches away from tasting the waters to save itself. He was so close, yet impossible to feel and touch. Her body broke apart under his gaze, a gaze that kept her spirits beyond an impossible barrier he had made around himself. She was this intruder, a pariah for his body that refused to relinquish itself to her . . . even for a few moments of passion that would ease her worries.

Oh, how she felt Sasuke was cruel to her. He would gladly bed women who enticed him, made his body vulnerable in throes of late night passions. But _her_? She clenched her cold fingers, her nails biting harshly into the soft flesh of her palms. A look of fury rushed into her eyes, making a home in their depths—forever trapped beneath the currents of her irrepressible lust for him.

But . . . why? All she asked were few pieces of his passion, some heated moments, let them be moments born from delirium. She would gladly take what he would be willing to give—no more, no less. Those hours of gazing upon him, knowing that he loathed her, drove her insane and pushed her further down into the depths of crushing darkness, and the seed of hatred for him was already sown.

Sakura could feel it sprouting out of the empty ground of her desolate lust: a barren land left without a touch or caress to soothe its darkness; its dried mud, a cracked and ugly mosaic, without any rain to quench its thirst. A gluttonous need to be satisfied by him left her raw with pain, anguish, and more lust. And it was growing. The reaping was at hand, and the more he pushed her away, the more it climbed, gaining heights till it would touch her heart and poison her against him.

A look of hatred came across Sakura's face, her eyes two shiny wet stones. She raised them slightly to look at Itachi sitting down beside the body. His face was touched by a hint of softness, and that countenance touched the cords in her heart. He looked almost like Sasuke—almost, with just a few silly missteps by nature.

That raging black ocean from her pandemonium suddenly found its calm, its tides finally finding that perfect rhythm, their ebb and flow musical under the pull of the full moon. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and her nostrils flared with the scents of crushed flora beneath their sandals. He looked so like him, the next best thing!

"Are you lost in some paradise?" Itachi asked and Sakura snapped to attention. "I asked you a question—do you find it appropriate to continue your training as a Sensor? I have heard you are quite apt at breaking non-ocular Genjutsu."

"But this will prove useful for my team," she replied and hugged herself. The temperature seemed to have plummeted suddenly.

"Sasuke already has Karin and her skill is . . . well, let us just assume the difference exceeds that between night and day. I am in need of a shinobi who is trained in the field of Genjutsu Kai—a free vacancy. You can continue training with Serizawa. He might not be the best in the field, but he is apt for the job," he said and got to his feet, his face completely unreadable and cold-as-winter again.

"But I'd like to continue. Sasuke might—"

"You are forbidden to contact Sai again," he cut across her, his voice had that same undercurrent of barbed disdain, "if this is all you have learnt in well over a dozen missions, then your progress is appalling. You are only wasting my brother's time. You did it without his knowledge, as well. Whilst you may have the Hokage's favour, you certainly will not have mine. And if she does play by the rules, she has no authority to override an Anbu Captain's verdict. If I catch you sniffing around in his Team without your Captain's approval again, it will result in your swift dismissal from your post with no recourse to entreaty. Is that clear?" He twisted his arm and pushed a scroll he had retrieved from the rogue ninja's dead body into his pocket.

Sakura gave a weak nod and walked behind him. Itachi had put her in a difficult situation. He stopped by the tree to the right and a crow landed on his shoulder. He looked into its eye and his own pulsed rhythmically to life. The crow vanished, and for a second, she caught a glimpse of a smile on his face. He took out the scroll and hastily ran his eyes down its contents. Then he set it on fire and its ashes went away with the wind . . .

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"Masks workin' a'right, Zabuza-San?" Suigetsu asked in a chirpy voice, sipping heartily from his trusty bottle. "Man, it's so dry out here. I might evaporate." He slumped backed against a large boulder and heaved a sigh, and his face sagged from exertion.

"The rains have stopped to the south. The clouds might come here. The birds told me," Jūgo said in a calm voice and petted the head of a small bird sitting on his hand.

"Get that thing away from me," Suigetsu snapped and flailed his arms about. The bird flew up and disappeared behind the trees. "Those things poop on me head almost every day now. Yor teachin' 'em to shit on me head, ain'tcha? Don't play innocent, Jūgo."

"Why would I do that? Honestly, with Sasuke not around, you can be so silly, Suigetsu," Jūgo said in the same soft tone of voice. He turned away from him and began conversing with few other birds sitting in the trees overhead.

Suigetsu mumbled something incoherent and brought his attention back to Zabuza who wore a completely unrecognizable face: a courtesy of Karin and her family. They created special masks made out of chakra, and no one knew about them other than a few Uzumakis in her family. They hid the real faces behind a powerful seal, which was undetectable even by Sharingan.

"Where's Sasuke-Sama?" Zabuza asked, his voice gruff and thick.

"He sent us ahead to make sure ya was a'right. His bro probably caught 'im. Itachi can be such a tight-arsed little meanie. Ya don't have ta worry about 'im. But," Suigetsu paused and took another sip from his bottle, "ya sent 'im a letter through Karin. What's so urgent?"

"This is," Zabuza said and pulled out a peculiar looking scroll from his pocket. The mask mimicking the contours of his real face: it showed anxiety.

Suigetsu stowed away his bottle and took it from his hand. Its contents surprised him. "No way—" Suigetsu shouted in surprise, "no fuckin' way! That shark still lives? So Mei and her underlins haven't made a shark-fin soup outta 'im yet? That nasty bastard!" He went into peals of laughter and smacked his hand against his thigh as though it was a crude joke.

"There you have it," he sighed, unamused by Suigetsu's reaction. "He contacted me through an unknown man. He needs help. Mist's closing in on him. It won't be long before they start sniffing around where he's hiding. He's running out of places to hide. If your boss wants to act, now would be the time."

"Suigetsu, Hinata, and Yuu are coming this way. Finish this up," Jūgo spoke from a few feet away.

"How long do I have to hide? Your boss said this would be over soon," Zabuza said and flashed away from them to the other side of the stone deities that made the line of the border between this region and Rain.

"Just cover yor sweet lil' arse for a lil' while longer. Bitch won't know what hit her. Bye bye, Zabuza-San." Suigetsu waved and crossed his legs on the boulder where he sat. Zabuza disappeared out of sight, and a few minutes later, Yuu and Hinata, along with two Chūnins, jumped down from the trees. Hinata looked a little out of breath, but she regained her composure quickly.

"You guys all right?" Yuu asked, putting away his Kunai.

"Our ninja in shiny armour is here," Suigetsu shouted, his hands flying out as if he was falling. "We are saved!"

"Oh, for Sage's sake . . . " Yuu muttered and kneaded his brow. "Pick up your stuff and get going. Itachi-Sama has cancelled all of your missions. Come on, let's get going." He flicked his head to one side, urging Jūgo and him to follow.

Suigetsu hopped off the boulder and thrust the scroll into his fanny-pack. "He's cancelling all of the missions? I don't like this. It would be impossible to contact Mei like Sasuke asked," Jūgo whispered, towering over the shorter man.

"I know—Itachi's actin' like a meanie again," Suigetsu said, his face uncustomary serious. "Let's just go. There's no point in stayin' around and drawin' suspicion." He started for the group walking ahead but stopped to look up at the crow staring down at them from its perch far up in the tree—its neck was stretching out rather oddly. He paid it no mind, for now, and resumed his walk . . .

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	24. Tracking Down the Rogue-Nin

**Chapter Twenty-Four** : Tracking Down the Rogue-Nin

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Morning came and went. It was a holiday today and most ninjas were in their homes. Rains had stopped, and streets were brimming with people. Noises rose and fell on the smooth currents of warm afternoon air. Standing close to the window, she caught a whiff of spices from the shops tucked underneath the upper-story of the inn.

Hinata had decided to leave home and rent a room for a week. Those three missions she completed recently earned her a little bonus. Itachi was brutal, but he did not withhold her pay. Her cheeks tightened in a grimace: if he hated her, then she was damn sure the feeling was mutual.

She clenched her fingers, but as she saw the village again at a glance from above, the feeling left, floating out of her body like a wayward ghost. She had never done much for herself; her life was always a rush and flurry of silk through the nettles. It was pleasant to be out of her home without any worries—just once.

She looked outside again. The light on the horizon was slowly losing its golden glow and turning orange. Few shopkeepers were already lighting the lanterns outside their shops. Red, blue, purple, pink . . . it was like a haze of so many colours that would only find their strength at night.

Moving away from the window, Hinata cast herself on the bed and rolled onto her back. Her eyes roamed around the room. For the amount she paid, this was a steal: the bed was big enough for one person, and the racks were large enough to house her belongings; a partition screen hid the far corner of the room—her ninja clothes were thrown over it haphazardly; she caught a glimpse of a few feathers painted on the screen's surface, but she could not quite make out the whole pattern—it was a black and white painting.

Her eyes found themselves roaming around the small table. The breeze coming in through the window passed over it, drying the ink on the official letter she had written to Sasuke: a permission to join the training squads for the Chūnin trials. A heavy sigh spilt from her lips, a defeated sigh. Itachi's words were like the incessant buzzing of insects in her ears, gnawing on her brain.

Sasuke attacked her because he was ill: Hinata reassured her racing heart that would not listen. It was never in the grasp of her fragile will—that unruly, stubborn thing. He had no reason to kill her. In her memory, his face was a sad and broken mask, his eyes, an empty void. The words he wanted to say to her . . . his anger and fear had robbed him of his voice. Whose father destroyed his life? For the first time in their strange relationship, she had taken a glimpse at the dark beneath his cool face.

What else was he hiding? He was a stranger to her. Maybe she was running ahead of herself, thinking that her words were enough to make him open up to her. She never thought they would sit under a lush tree so soon and exchange family grievances.

Hinata sighed again, a little loudly this time. Itachi had closed that door in her face. It was shut forever. Sasuke's moment of vulnerability was gone, lost behind the mishap she had created. She moved her hand and played with her hair, her thoughts racing along with her heartbeats.

Why did he not want Sasuke to know? The thought was beginning to bug her. It was burrowing under her skin, prodding her to do something rash and silly again—a cat yearned for satisfaction now! But she had made a promise. She would be a good girl and let Sasuke reach out to her again. She would not misbehave out of the silly need to be a curious little girl, but the curiosity to know . . .

How would she even bring it up? "Sasuke, you tried to kill me. I hate you now, but who destroyed your _precious_ life?" The inner voice of reason laughed at her, and its words mocked her; they seethed with contempt.

"Foolish, loathsome girl . . . " Hinata had heard Itachi whisper as she left the office. She ground her teeth. His loathing of her natural passions grated on the little pride she had left, the last vestiges of her clan's might.

How her heart and body dully ached for Sasuke now. She had not seen him in so many days. How was he? Had his fever abated, leaving him as cool and uncaring as before? Did he dream of her as he lay helpless beneath the sheets, burdened by the thoughts of his tormentors? Ah, such a silly girl and that silly little body of hers—It craved his intimacy.

Distance and time had parted it from him, but the pain within rose like a loud noise. The flare and surge of lust inside her were cracking the walls of the little composure she had learnt to craft for herself. She was such a silly girl, and she would not last long without relishing the feel of his skin against hers. It was tamed by his touch by now—a timid animal caged inside the walls of his own brand of discipline. And she hated it, loathed this feeling of need that nipped and ripped her senses apart, shredding her nerves to pieces.

Now that Hinata had tasted the pleasures he offered, it was impossible for her feet to tread back. _It was wrong_ , she told herself. _But it was right to soothe the flaring passions_ , the other voice whispered heatedly. A paroxysm of desire seized her body and mind. The voice of a woman inside her always triumphed, overpowering the whispers of regret and betrayal.

 _Why does it even matter?_ Hinata thought to herself as she undid the obi of her kimono and moved the collars aside to bare her body, crushing the voices of reason, locking them up again in the dark corners of her mind where they would remain, talking amongst themselves, shouting themselves hoarse. Their words always rang hollow.

She hooked her finger underneath the waistband of her underwear and dragged it down to her thighs. The cool wind rushed at her naked body—a cold sensation against the burning and exquisite fever rising just beneath her skin.

Hinata closed her eyes and sensations of want crept into her pores like little crawly insects: they stung and bit as she moved her hand over her breasts and trailed her fingers sluggishly across the skin of her stomach. Her fingers tangled in her pubic hair, and she moved them lower still . . . moving them down along her folds; and then she plunged the finger into her slit and caught a shaky release of breath in a sigh.

It felt good. The other free hand roved over her torso, soothed the aching sensation from her taut muscles. At that moment, she moved her finger faster, and her throat spasmed as though she was straining her head to breathe above the surface, after a deep plunge. She twisted her nipple between her fingers, her body shuddering from the lovely sensations.

It did not take long for a hot electric spark to strike her at the core, jolting her there. A spray . . . and she felt the warmth of her release on her fingers. Hinata opened her mouth and swallowed the air in the room: her face trembled from release. As if in a stubborn mood, she sat up straight and wiped her hand on the kimono. Yes, why did it even matter? A faint smile crossed her pink face as she looked outside the window. Freedom was a precious thing . . .

# # # # # #

Night was upon them, casting its ominous shadows that hid and skittered away like children as pale shafts of light from the new crescent-moon descended upon them. The air in the forest was heavy, thick with the odour of decaying flowers and leaves. Autumn was that reaper that sliced off the heads of young—Nature's own style of merciless reaping.

The warm sun had sucked the moisture out of the ground and left the leaves by their feet dry. They crackled as their sandals crushed and crunched them without an ounce of mercy. The naked branches overhead were the perch of many owls. They hooted, their yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. The forest was alive again!

Rains had withdrawn their tight grasp—a few days of respite for the land. Purple lilies poked out of the ground. They thrived in these corners, the foot of the trees abloom with their purple glow, delicate mouths open and eager to take in the light of the moon. It was an enchanting sight that compelled the man walking ahead to stop in his tracks. He bent down and plucked one, his face blank.

"Takin' one for Sasuke, Itachi-Sama?" Suigetsu asked from behind him; he wore his readymade mischievous face.

Itachi stood up straight and slowly turned around. A ghostly smile disturbed his cool features, his Sharingan on. "Hand over the scroll, Suigetsu," he said, his voice steeped in his customary, languid drawl.

Suigetsu lost that cheeky expression for a moment, stunned. Then, as a realization dawned on him, it returned to his face with full force. He let out a loud laugh. "Was wonderin' what this wild goose-chase was 'bout—and in this part, too. Yor clever, Itachi-Sama," he said and tapped his finger against the side of his head.

"Do not waste time," Itachi said, his face becoming a blank slate, waiting to be touched by something, anything subtle.

"Yor crows are everywhere—" Suigetsu broke off and reached into his fanny pack, "it ain't nice ta spy on unwary folk. Yor a bad bro."

Itachi merely smiled in reply; his pale face, laden with crooked shadows of the bare branches overhead, was hard to read. He waited for Suigetsu to hand it over.

Suigetsu turned the scroll in his hand as if he had just stumbled upon it. He looked indecisive. He flashed Itachi a clever grin and spoke, "might I ask somethin'? Why do ya need it? Sasuke would be bloody mad if he found out, ya know."

"This should not concern you. Curiosity is a terrible business. It gets many people into a lot of trouble," Itachi said, and his voice had that serrated edge of frostiness that was hard to miss.

"That's all fine an' dandy, but ya know, I gotta answer ta Sasuke, too. Yor lil' bro is not the type to let things go. And from the looks of it, neither are you," Suigetsu said and threw the scroll up into the air and then caught it again as gravity pulled it down.

"You already sent the mail into the system?" he asked, his brow disturbed by a single line of irritation.

"Of course I did," Suigetsu said, his voice approaching a shout as if he was being accused of someone's heinous murder and this was his only chance to come clean. " I doubt even ya have the time or the patience ta go through thousands of coded scrolls ta find Sasuke's."

"He asked you to send a coded message . . . of course," Itachi sighed and closed his eyes. "He is such a child."

"I hope yor not gonna try ta Genjutsu me. They kinda don't work on us. Water, ya know," Suigetsu said with a wide wave of his hand as though it was not obvious enough. "Or burn me. But that would be crazy mad of ya." His face suddenly turned a little wary, and he took a single step back as if it would save him from his _Mangekyō_ _'s_ __wrath.

"I could," Itachi said in a soft voice, softer than the calm waves of the sea, "but I am not in any mood to push Sasuke anymore. It will only make him more angry. It becomes difficult to handle him that way."

An owl loudly hooted, and a sudden surge of wind at Suigetsu's back shook the leaves that crackled and spun around upon the ground. "Handlin' as in how ya keep Genjutsuin' 'im?" he asked.

"I know the mind has a tendency to wander, but I told you never to bring that up again," Itachi paused and heaved a sigh. "Do not compel me to try it out on you."

Suigetsu shook his head, chuckling. "So scary," he said and leant back against the rough tree behind him. "I'm just sayin' that it ain't nice. Ya have a better Genjutsu, but he's got the better set of eyes. How long do ya think this'll work? He's fightin' back. What will ya do when the floodgates open? He's gonna be so mad at ya." He grinned and showed pointy teeth that flashed in the soft moonlight.

"I see that staying here has made a scholar out of you," Itachi retorted, a cunning look coming into his blank face, occupying its every vein, every fiber with haste.

"Am just warnin' ya," Suigetsu began—his smile had vanished, "last time he was wanderin' like a mad ol' codger across Rain's border. That's when I found 'im. He was utterin' gibberish. He doesn't even know about my first mission. Someone could've killed 'im for eyes. But ya two are so stubborn. Yor a hard-arse for disciplinin' 'im, and he's just as bad in not obeyin'. Ya gotta draw a line somewhere." He finally threw the scroll at Itachi.

"Are _you_ suggesting me something, an advice, perhaps? Believe me, those days are not yet upon me," he spoke sardonically and opened the scroll to read the details, his eyes roaming between Suigetsu's serious face and the location of the hideout.

"I ain't suggestin' nothin', boss. I'm just askin' ya to cool it. Ya put 'im under Genjutsu every time things get outta hand, and then you put funny images in his head. Kinda creepy for such a lovely thing like bro-mance, don't ya think?" Suigetsu asked and winced when Itachi burnt the scroll. "He's gonna give me a big and new one for this."

Itachi did not say anything and started walking ahead into the deep forest. The light was sparse here: the ground appeared like a black mass. Itachi kindled a flame on his palm, breaking out a fresh light. He saw an opening between two small boulders. It would have been impossible to spot without his Sharingan.

He stepped through the opening with Suigetsu trailing right behind him. "Smells like a place between a bitch's legs—fishy! Get it?" Suigetsu joked and pinched his own nose. When Itachi did not answer, his smile sagged. "Smells—ah, never mind."

A click resounded like a single loud beat of a drum, and two razor-sharp wires passed right through Suigetsu, splashing water all over the place. He looked up to find Itachi stretched across a small gap in the wall above, his hands and sandals plastered against the rough wall with chakra. He had evaded it. "Thanks for the warnin'!" Suigetsu muttered and solidified his body.

"Good thing you are made out of water," Itachi spoke and jumped down, "otherwise, I would not have sent anyone here to clean up your messy leftovers."

"Hey, me mum thought I was special!" He made a childish expression and then looked around. "Chakra-less traps . . . the fish brain of his works."

Itachi walked deeper into the cave. It was clammy and dank. Water dripped down from the holes overhead, and tree roots protruded through the cracks. He disarmed several more traps till he came across another opening.

The area was well-lit with candles still burning in the crevices. A few clothes were left haphazardly behind on the cold verdure-covered floor. Itachi picked one up and smelt it: it stank of sweat. The man had been here not long ago. Then why did he leave? He looked around, chakra pulsing just beneath his eye—that was used to calling the flames of hell—cooled down. He was prepared to kill him and end it all.

"He left not long ago. Someone warned him I was coming," Itachi said; his eyes searched the cave, and then they settled on Suigetsu.

"Don't look at me," he said, picked up a few fish bones from a broken plate, and turned them around as if hopeful for a little piece of meat hanging between their gaps. "I gave ya the only connection I had with 'im. Looks like he moved ahead—just in case. Maybe because of Mei? Who knows what goes on in a fishy's lil' brain."

"Yes, who knows," Itachi repeated, looking slightly amused. He walked out of the makeshift room Kisame had made out of the gaps and stones: his inner sanctum.

"I saw you cryin' that day in the rain . . . " Suigetsu whispered as Itachi's vanished behind the shadows. Then he started walking behind him.

# # # # # #

His body ached, feverish with the struggle to break free. A single point in his consciousness opened up like a lily—so bright in the endless darkness, so hungry for light. He felt as if he did not have a spine as he writhed beneath the sheets. A single web of courage and strength, which a spider had woven and thrown down from the maw's mouth above him, was at arm's reach. He took it in his shivering hand and climbed out: his eyes opened with a shudder . . .

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	25. Trouble Amongst the Clans

**Chapter Twenty-Five** : Trouble Amongst the Clans

# # # # # #

"What?" Neji asked and his face changed with the relentless assaults of shock and disgust. "What are you asking of me?"

Thunder spoke angrily, rocking the whole place as if they sat on a piece of an uncertain land, right in the angry eye of the storm. The night was upon them, a wild animal clutching its prey, slaying it with little remorse. Stars hid behind the mercilessness of Nature—scared children fearing punishment for their misdeeds—their twinkle snuffed out by the swathe of clouds painted black by the night, wind hot on the heels of lightning. It was a stormy night, indeed.

"I won't do this," Neji said in a firm voice that rose resolutely above the wind.

"It is a simple matter, Neji. You are Naruto's friend and Hinata's cousin—what better man to entrust this task with?" Minato spoke gently, his right hand resting on his thigh. Next to him, Kushina nodded in agreement. Her demeanour was a display of an uncertain calm. A fake smile broke her fragile face. Neji was not fooled by its trickery.

"Forgive me, Minato-Sama," Neji paused, his jaw set, "but it really isn't a simple matter. You are asking me to—spy on my cousin, on Naruto, and report back, to you, the details of their private affairs? This is—it's unthinkable! What do you take me for? A petty family spy to ensure your clans' futures?" The whole matter had set his nerves on edge.

"Neji, it is nothing like that," Hiashi spoke from across the table. The shadows seemed to have perched on his pale face. "We need someone we can trust. A man who is one of us. Someone they trust as well. If we do not get an heir, our families have met their ends. Hanabi is still too young and will bear the burden of the Hyūga clan. Hinata had to be the one to carry on _Namikaze's_ future. You will not be doing this for them—you will be doing this for the future of our clans. Try to understand our position."

Neji let out an impatient sound, his fingers crooked upon his thighs. He breathed heavily for a few seconds and located the courage inside him to speak. He settled his eyes on Hiashi, words leaping to his quiet tongue, and it quivered in his mouth to speak: "why do you want to spy on your own daughter? Does this seem reasonable to you?"

Hiashi let out a loud sigh and put his hand on his forehead. "Tsunade has sent us a letter that she is unwell to bear children and needs to recover, but she is doing missions under that Uchiha's supervision. Naruto hardly stays at home. He seems too busy with his paramour to go near Hinata," he said and saw shock come into Neji's face from behind the thin curtain of receding shadows.

"Paramour? What are you talking about?" Neji asked and bent forward, trying to take a good look at Hiashi's face. It was difficult without his Byakugan to see a man's face shrouded in darkness.

"Naruto has been—" Kushina stopped and clasped her fingers tightly together, "—intimate with Sakura for quite some time. He wanted to marry her, but he had a responsibility. It could not happen. A Haruno Clan's daughter is hardly worthy of my son. "

Shock splashed across Neji's face. "How long have you all known?" he asked in a small voice and looked from the face hidden behind the darkness to the man and woman sitting in front of him in the dull light of the lantern.

"He has been with her for a few years. He had no desire to stay in this marriage. I suspect he did it to wound us. He wanted to end it—be free, as he had said. But we could not allow it. It is . . . a complicated matter." Kushina's small voice trailed off, burdened by the truth spilling from her lips.

"I don't believe this . . . " he sighed and buried his face in his hands. It all seemed to come together: Hinata's misery, Naruto's disinterest in his married life, and his parents . . . both wanted to break free of the trappings of their fates.

Neji lowered his eyes and caught sight of a small, pinkish moth that writhed on the mat by his folded knee. It twisted around in pain; a dull and thin line of smoke rose from its scorched wings. It must have thought the purple light overhead to be a lily. It went still after a few fleeting moments. The spectacle of death had come to a close.

He raised his eyes, breaking his gaze from Kushina's face to bring it forcefully upon Hiashi's. The shadows haunting him had receded back when the flame on the wick gained height, painting his sober face with an aura that looked at odds with nearly half his face. "I'm not going to be a part of this," Neji whispered, his voice dulled by the rising anger.

"Neji," Hiashi spoke with an air of impatience, and his face turned an ugly shade of purple down the neck. "You are the Branch family's heir and my nephew. If I cannot trust the Branch family, then who can I trust?"

Neji lifted his hands and pulled off the headband to reveal a fading seal. Gasps rose from their lips at the sight of it. Only a small glimmer of it remained on Neji's pale forehead. It was mostly gone, faded away as if yielding its territory to something strong. "I'm no longer a Head of an inferior family. This caste system will exist no more," he said with anger in his firm voice and etched upon his young face.

Hiashi slumped forward and braced his hands on his thighs. "You accepted Tsunade's proposal to remove the seals?" he asked in such a small defeated voice that it barely made it to Neji's ears. He looked up with a face painted with anguish. "But . . . why?"

Neji got to his feet and shoved his headband into his pocket. It was dark—the shadows would hide the mark of his clan's shame. "Ever since the time of my great-grandfather, we've been nothing but your unwilling shields. No more—" he stopped, his chest heaving with emotion, "—no more. My father lost his life to save you and your family. My family will do your bidding no longer."

"Neji," Minato spoke and hastily rose to his feet, "this is unfair to Hiashi. You should not think this way. We need your support, and your . . . "

"I won't support you in spying on your son. Do you even care about him at all? Don't you feel anything for him?" he asked, looking at the changing character of Minato's features. He turned his eyes to Hiashi whose face was lashed by shock and disbelief's whip. "And you? Hinata is your own daughter. How can you do this to her? Sacrifice her to a loveless marriage, leaving her to rot on the outskirts of this village with no aid from you?"

Hiashi's eyes misted over and his cheeks tightened and he lowered his head to hide the tears coursing down his cheeks. He was silent, his head bowed as if in a silent apology . . . too little, too late to bring his younger brother back from the dead, sacrificed to save his clan's repute, but it did not thaw the layer of unforgiving cold resting on Neji's face.

"Neji, you must understand," Kushina pleaded and clamped her hand on Minato's arm, "this matter is delicate. You need to listen to us. Naruto is fragile. He might . . . "

"I don't have to listen to this. I told you, I have nothing to do with your families' legacies. I've got my own clan to protect. Something people like you threw away for your own gains," Neji said and calmed his ragged breaths. He turned away and started for the door.

Hiashi got to his feet and stretched out his hand. "Neji, wait. I'm—" he fell silent, unable to weave his thoughts into words.

Neji looked over his shoulder, his eyes softening to the purple light of the lantern. They strayed toward that moth again: it lay still and crumpled where it had died. He did not say anything and left the room in silence.

"Hiashi, this cannot go on. You have to talk to Hinata. She has a responsibility to her clan, to you, and to us. She is out of your control. You need to discipline her. What will become of the essence inside Naruto? It needs to be passed on to find its balance. Or else all that trouble, that shame, that slaughter . . . it had been for nothing," Minato said and put his hand on Kushina's trembling fingers clasped around his arm.

Hiashi slumped down to the floor with a sigh as though he had just experience great defeat in a battle. He looked up at the other man, sharing the secrets, the sins with him—in his blank eyes. He nodded absentmindedly and spoke, "I will. This cannot go on like this anymore."

A loud sound shook the room again, and then it was silence once more . . .

# # # # # #

When all things were said and done, when all lies disappeared, what would be left behind to shelter the bond he so wanted to safeguard? His gait was graceful, each step deliberately measured and weighed by his Sharingan to guide its way. He was perfect: a perfect man in appearance, in intellect, and even in concealing lies. Yes, Itachi was a perfect man and a perfect liar.

Nothing escaped his Sharingan as he walked against the wind picking up the pace. Dry leaves and dead Sakura flowers whirled around him in the air—such a rush to be swept away by the swooning winds. He could count them all: one, two, three—fifteen, fifty . . . he lowered his eyes and looked down to the familiar path that led to his home.

Light danced overhead and glimpsed like blue insects at the far end of the sky. The small part of his sword, peeking out from above the sheath, shone in the blue light. The mission for today was over, but his burdens were only piling up. He would not let his back stoop to protect his pride. But what to do . . . what to do?

His cunning eyes darted from corner to corner as though in search of an intruder who threatened his calm thoughts. It was a habit he had developed ever since he joined Anbu. Even a short walk back home was a tedious journey. Every nook and corner had to be investigated for spies. Back in the day, when he was newly appointed, he used to kill several assassins every week. Their numbers dwindled, and then, they just stopped coming.

Itachi let out a sigh and then sucked in autumn's cold air. A metallic object hanging at the door of someone's house musically clanked as the wind brushed past it. It stopped him in his tracks, and his eyes located a small well obscured by thick grass a few feet away from him. His mind suddenly took a trip down memory lane, and his Sharingan cast an illusion around him, throwing him back nearly sixteen years into the past.

Sasuke sat in the grass with his back pressed against the well. He had his knees clasped together with his small arms hugging them close to his chest. His Genin academy bag lay abandoned by his feet.

"Sasuke," Itachi spoke his name, pulling the boy's eyes to himself, "why are you sitting here? It's past five p.m. You must be hungry. Come on, let me take you home."

"I don't wanna go home," Sasuke answered—his small voice was smaller than usual. The lush leaves cast the coming evening's shade on his pale face enveloped by a child's sorrow.

"What's wrong?" Itachi asked and sat down beside him. "Did someone say something to you? You can tell me and I'll punish them." He gave a reassuring smile and stroked Sasuke's messy hair. His shadow loomed over the small boy—Itachi was quite tall for his age.

Sasuke hesitated for a moment before he turned his face to Itachi, his cheeks flushed from heat. It was really warm today. "Otō-Sama didn't even see my test. He doesn't care at all," he said in a sad little voice and then turned his face away. Itachi saw his tiny pink mouth quiver as he squeezed his eyes shut. The tears stung on his hot face.

"Sasuke . . . " Itachi brushed his tears away and pushed his sweaty hair aside. "He's other matters to deal with. Where's your test? Let me see." He stretched his hand and pulled out the paper sticking out from between the books. "A perfect score. I'm proud of you."

Sasuke's face lit up, and he looked into Itachi's eyes. "You are, Nii-San?" he asked as if unsure of his brother's honesty.

"Of course I am. You're _my_ brother. Why would I lie to you?" he spoke softly and wiped away fresh tears shimmering in the last light of the sun. "Come on, let me carry you home." Reassured that his brother was being honest, he let Itachi pick him up. Itachi flung Sasuke's bag over his shoulder, slipped his arm under Sasuke's buttocks, and slipped the other behind his neck.

Lifting Sasuke up, Itachi started walking. Sasuke circled his arms around Itachi's neck, his chest pressed against his brother's, his heart beating loudly. "Nii-San, I want to be like you," he whispered close to Itachi's ear, his cheek pressed into the crook of his brother's neck. "You're perfect, Nii-San. When I grow up, I'll be just like you. I'll work hard to be like you."

"You don't have to be like me, Sasuke. You are you," he reassured him again and moved his hand up to press Sasuke firmly to himself as he opened the gate. "See, we are home. You should . . . " he paused and turned his head slightly to look at Sasuke. He had fallen asleep.

Itachi closed his eyes. The memory ended. The illusion ended. Time had cast a different shadow around him. It was a memory relived under the darkness of _this_ sky. Somehow, his feet had found their way back home, retracing the path like a routine ritual. He never thought that in those innocent childhood confessions lay the absolute passion for honesty. He tilted his head back and felt the chill from the wind crawl upon his warm skin; it was his fault that Sasuke forever chased the idea of him being a statue carved out of a cold marble—a symbol of perfection.

Somewhere down the road, the boy had forgotten himself, overlooked the mask of perfection his brother wore to hide his True nature. He had tempered his own innocence and beaten it out of himself to mould it in Itachi's image. Itachi stood still and felt the soft chill of rain upon his unyielding skin; it betrayed him to tremble at the sensations—a crack in his perfect mask. It readjusted itself quickly to appear indifferent again, but within him raged an ocean of regret. Sasuke was slipping out of his hands . . .

He felt as though he was standing on the brink of a frightening precipice, staring down at the darkness by his feet. It was barbed and alive—a lid on his secrets and sins. He had little remorse for his deeds. They were his duties, his willing choices to protect the village as its uncompromising soldier . . . and his brother. Yes, he would do anything for him: betray his clan, his loyalty to the village, and break free from the precepts of innocence and notions of martyrdom. Those are disgraceful sentiments if he had nothing to protect.

What would he protect if Sasuke lost himself to the Truth? The perfect mask yielded before fear for _just_ a moment. Waves of distress eating away at his insides slammed against his composure, but it was too stubborn for them to break through, tear it apart, and spill out over his face to consume him for just a moment's victory. No, he would do everything to shield Sasuke from the truth, to protect the bond forged in innocence between them. Sasuke did not have to know everything.

Taking a long intake of breath, as if the matter was settled, Itachi stepped inside the manor. The servants had lit the lanterns. The Uchiha symbol glowed behind the yellow light of the lantern in the entrance's alcove. He looked at it for a moment as though interested in the red glow of the fan and took off his sandals. The chill was trapped behind the door. Dull and hushed sounds of the rain's pitter-patter permeated the space about him.

Itachi opened the clasp of his sheath and grabbed hold of the sword. The rack to the right had the weapons he and Sasuke used for their missions. When his gaze moved in the direction of his room, the sword in his grip clanked to the floor, and his eyes pulsed to life. "Sasuke . . . " he let out a whisper and flashed to his brother, a crumpled figure by the open door. He sat down and grabbed Sasuke by the shoulders. "Sasuke, speak to me. Sasuke . . . "

Sasuke lifted his head, his eyes unable to decide the pattern they wanted to wear as they fluctuated hastily between the ring of Tomoes and the petals of Eternal light; Itachi had been too hard, too cruel this time. "Nii-Sama," he let out a weak sound, his face enveloped by sadness, "have you ever had the urge . . . to just let it all go?"

Itachi did not know what to say. He kept looking at Sasuke, his innocence apparent on his face without that mask of mimicry. "I remember I visited our parents' grave—and I went on a mission that day. I was hanging by a thread, looking down at the ocean . . . those raging waves crashing on the rocks, the smell of salt rushing to me. I just—I wanted to let go. I wanted to be free . . . I hate this—this burden. I don't know what to do." He grimaced, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Sasuke, you are my flesh and blood and I am your anchor. Even if you end up loathing me, it would never matter because that's what older brothers are for—to bear the hate and be their brothers' shield," Itachi said with utmost honesty and pressed Sasuke's forehead against his own.

He had to find Kisame before Sasuke. Truth was _never_ a necessity . . .

# # # # # #

"Tsunade-Sama, can't you do anything—anything at all?" Sakura pleaded. The night was a child perched on the sky's throne, but the sky was hidden behind the vast swathe of clouds: an unwary darling was ruthlessly shielded by a curtain of rain and storm.

"Sakura, I wish I could, but Itachi has written a detailed report. He's the Anbu Captain and the boy is typically thorough. Sage knows he never leaves any loopholes behind for anyone to get around. I can't override his decision under these conditions. If you want to learn more, then take the opportunity he's offering you. You are a gifted Medic and hold great mastery over Genjutsu-Kai. It wouldn't hurt to hone your skills," Tsunade said from across the large table. It had few unsigned scrolls lying open on its surface.

Sakura heaved a sigh, her eyes downcast, looking around at the new rug spread across the floor. The office was being renovated—racks, cupboards, and even the large table, were new. She breathed in the overpowering smell of fresh paint and coughed. It was unbearable to even stand in the office.

"This would give you time to separate yourself from Sasuke and think for yourself," Tsunade said and gazed at the shocked expression on Sakura's face. She was not expecting such honesty from her mentor.

"Tsunade-Sama, I—" she stopped and lowered her eyes in shame.

"There's no need to hide it. I know you have strong feelings for him, but that's clouding your judgment. Why don't you tell Itachi already that you failed the tests because you were making a poison's antidote for Fū under Danzō's orders? I'm sure he can make Sasuke understand. Sage knows that wild boy can't even be controlled by anyone but Itachi," she said, her brow knitting with irritation. The Uchiha brothers always were these two bratty imps in her eyes: unreasonable, secretive, and hard-headed.

"It was a classified mission. I was told not to tell my Captain. I don't think there's any need to tell Itachi-Sama. I've passed my tests anyway," Sakura answered, her eyes still lowered before the Hokage's soft gaze.

Tsunade sighed and lifted herself up with great difficulty. Sitting on the chair all day long was hardly her idea of a decent job. She walked to the closed window and opened it a little to let fresh air in. It hit the side of Sakura's face and cooled beads of sweat standing on her skin. She shivered, took in a gulp of air, exhaled as hard as she could. It was a good idea to air the room.

"I'm giving you an honest advice—forget about Sasuke," she broke off, and then she turned around to face her student and met her green eyes glazed with fresh tears. "He doesn't love you. He will _never_ love you. You're just wasting your life away, chasing after this—this boy who doesn't care for you. The sooner you realize this, the better. Sometimes, when our desires are shattered, we go down wrong paths from where there's no return. Break yourself free. Be free. That's all I'm going to say."

Tsunade kept her gaze settled upon Sakura; she was weeping in the light of the lantern. The grieving girl raised her head, her face ruined by tears. She took in a shuddering breath and spoke in a wavering voice strained by her youthful passions, losses, and fears: "t-thank you, Tsunade-Sama. You are—k-kind."

Tsunade took a few steps and clamped her hand on Sakura's trembling shoulder. "I know it's hard, but you have to let go. Let him go, Sakura. For Sage's sake, you're _only_ twenty-five. You have a whole life ahead of you. Don't ruin it by running after a mirage. Take this chance Itachi is offering you and you can apply anywhere you want . . . you can get away from this place, away from Sasuke and start over," Tsunade said and stroked Sakura's hair.

Sakura did not say anything in response. Could she really break free from him? The thought hit her hard. He was like a sturdy, unrelenting chain of desire around her—an unbreakable chain wrapped around her flesh and soul. Would she ever be able to run away, break free without tearing herself apart? Her heart thundered in her breast as she thought of the next best thing, and she felt his hold on her loosen just a little . . .

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	26. A Lover and his Pawn

**Chapter Twenty-Six** : A Lover and his Pawn

 **Warning:** Erotica and Morbid Humour. I don't give out warnings, but I believe a first and last one is warranted on this front. It's up to you to figure out as to which instances fall under the category of 'morbid sexual humour (which is fairly tame for now)' and which ones don't. This chapter has one such example.

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Cool drops quivered on his face, his cheeks blushing from the chill nipping at his skin. He palmed his face and kept his eyes downcast and avoided his older brother's persistent gaze. A sigh came out as a thick fog from Itachi's mouth, and he finally spoke, unwilling to prolong the silence between them any longer: "are you still angry with me?"

"Why does it matter what I think? You do as you please," Sasuke retorted and flexed his neck. He was still staring down at his sandals, and his cheeks tightened in disdain. The scroll was lost, burnt by his own brother. Everything he had worked for . . . was lost.

Itachi took one step and moved the branches, dotted with cool raindrops, out of his way. His eyes had a hint of worry, his face calm that defiantly kept the emotions from crossing the verges of his control.

"Were you really content with chasing a Missing-Nin without authorization? You know we have the inquiry hanging above our heads. The matter is still not in the past. Must you be an obdurate child with a Team under your command?" Itachi asked, his voice calm, but it was failing to mollify his brother's passions this time.

Sasuke raised his gaze, meeting Itachi's eyes, steeped in an emotion that shocked his older brother—was it hatred? "Did you bring me here to mock me?" Sasuke asked and a sudden bitterness came into his face, but it left just as quickly.

"Of course not. I am simply exhorting you to be vigilant. Chasing after Missing-Nins without thinking, taking that Mizukage's tasks on a whim . . . people in Root are starting to whisper. They can start an inquiry into this matter if they desire, and I will not be able to stop them. The only one I can stop, is you," Itachi reasoned and watched a flicker of anger race across his brother's face.

"I wasn't doing it on a whim. Don't insult my intelligence," he hissed, his voice thick and angry.

Itachi slightly tilted his head to the left, his face inquisitive, his left hand twisting the hilt of the long kunai in his hand. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked, and his eyes roved on his brother's face.

"Why?" Sasuke said in a mocking voice and gave a small laugh, "you've won. Isn't that what you always wanted—to humiliate me and prove yourself right? Well, congratulations. This wouldn't be the last time you put so much effort into cutting my paths. I'm sure you're proud of yourself." He wore a contemptuous smile on his face. His tone, his expression, his whole demeanour shocked Itachi. He had never talked to him this way before.

Itachi's eyes widened momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure. "Is that what you think—that I cut your paths, and put so much effort in disgracing you? You seem to soak yourself in your own world, unable to see reason from my eyes that I do everything for you. How can you be so . . . oblivious to everything?" he asked, his voice not able to hide the small undercurrent of worry this time, but it was not enough to cool the fires blazing just beneath Sasuke's skin.

"Oblivious?" Sasuke asked, his voice rising, his face contorting with anger. "How dare you! You treat me like things in your games. You thwart my paths whenever it pleases you, never caring for a second how I feel about it. Then you give yourself the liberty to accuse me?" Sasuke raised his hand to his face and brought his thumb and forefinger close. "I was this close—this close, but you went ahead and destroyed everything. You had no right. You never had any right to do what you did. You just did it to please yourself."

"Sasuke, what is—"

"I'm not going to listen to you anymore," Sasuke cut him off, his face marked red by fury, "if I don't find any lead soon, I swear, I'll _never_ forgive you." He looked into his brother's eyes resolutely, letting him feel the rage in them. Then he turned around and walked at a quick pace out of the clearing. He passed by Naruto who had just dragged out a ninja from behind the bushes.

"Sasuke, I caught him! Where are you going?" Naruto asked and tried to still the ninja struggling in his grasp. He turned his puzzled face to Itachi whose eyes were staring at the empty space before him. His mask had been thrown away, and he was not aware of this vulnerability.

"Hey, Sasuke—" Naruto called out from behind, but Sasuke disappeared behind the trees.

"Let him go. Just let him cool off a bit," Itachi sighed and closed his eyes. He put the long kunai back into the sheath and looked at Naruto. "I suppose you cleared the task. You can resume your Chūnin duties from tomorrow."

"Thanks," Naruto said in confusion, his blue eyes unable to fathom the intensity in Itachi's face. He looked very angry all of a sudden. "What about my Jōnin application?"

"Talk to your Captain about it. He will arrange the dates. Loosen your grip," he said in a heavy, commanding voice.

Naruto obliged. The prisoner slipped from his hand. Naruto blinked and saw the prisoner's head fly into the air: his blood floated before his blue eyes enveloped by a strong wave of shock. He stared beyond the spotty, rosy veil at the drawn sword in Itachi's hand—his passions un-obscured in his red eyes.

"What the . . . hell?" The breathy voice tumbled up to his throat, his boyish face in the grip of shock and fear as he looked at the head lying close to his sandals, touching his left toe. He pulled his foot back when he felt the gob of saliva, hanging from the prisoner's lips, on tip of his toe, looking repulsed. He jerked his head up and watched Itachi as he wiped the blood from the sword on his pants, looking remorseless and cold. Itachi's lips twitched very slightly at the corners, with a hint of loathing as though the man disgusted his sensibilities even in death.

Itachi paid Naruto no heed, his face hard, chiselled out of the coldest of marbles. He bent his head down and let out a breath of fire. It engulfed the dead man and turned him into a charred, black body within two seconds. He did not stick around and flashed out of the forest the next moment, leaving Naruto alone in the clearing.

His blue eyes, still under the shadow of fear, looked down at the ashes flying up into the air from the body. The wind was carrying them away. He kept looking at it, and not sure why, felt a tear squeeze out of his eye. His heart was too kind, too soft; his lips trembled with sadness and the realization that Itachi had taken out his anger on the prisoner . . .

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"You have to quit your post, Hinata. You don't understand what's at stake here?" Hiashi pleaded before Hinata, standing in the shafts of light tempered by the paper-screen window.

Hinata raised her gaze—there was a touch of defiance in her eyes. She pressed her hand to her breast and her heart tripped, nervous of her new found resolve. "I-I can't quit my post, Otō-Sama. I won't quit my post. You ask so much of me," she said, her voice small with emotion.

"You're disobeying your father? When did you become so insolent?" Hiashi said in a raised voice, his fingers clenched as though he meant to hit her.

"I've never disobeyed you. I've done whatever you've ever asked of me. Can't I have this small amount of freedom? I didn't say I won't give you an heir," she lied, her face trembling. It did not matter. All she needed was a bit of strength, and then she would leave her clan . . . and go away from this place. "But y-you can't lock me up like this. I'm a human. Have you ever thought of me as one? Have you ever . . . cared about me? This is the first time you've come here after my marriage." She closed her eyes, and her lips shuddered. She hated this weakness, but she steeled herself and looked him in the eye and saw remorse.

Her words had broken him. He stood erect, breathing heavily as if something was burdening his back, trying to bend it against his will. "You don't know how much I have sacrificed for this clan's sake—my dignity, my honour, and—" he stopped, chewed up the word he wanted to say, and swallowed it down, "you have to understand that, without an heir, Namikaze Clan is lost. And if they are lost, we are lost. You don't even realize this." He turned his head away, feeling ashamed of his daughter's newfound defiance.

"You didn't have to stop. You've sacrificed me, too, haven't you? You don't have to hide. I was always the pathetic, weak one. And I don't blame you. I wish I was stronger. But I can't do things because you want me to. You want an heir, and you will get it . . . a-after I recover," she lied again, and this time, she held her gaze. Her fingers clenched into fists. She was not going to let him bully her again.

Hiashi opened his mouth to speak but a knock came upon the door. "Come in," Hinata said and touched her lips with her fingers to catch her gasp when the door opened: Sasuke stepped into the house, moving his eyes from Hiashi to Hinata.

"If I'm interrupting something, I can come back later," he said and looked at Hiashi.

Hiashi shook his head. "No, it is all right. I was just leaving," he said and turned his eyes to Hinata. "We will discuss this matter some other time." Then he left the house, closing the door behind him.

Sasuke kept looking at the door, his eyes narrowed as though he was lost in thought. He finally turned around and put the scroll on the table, his eyes meeting hers with a sudden wild intensity. "I've approved your request. You'll have to induct yourself into the trials next week. Train with Yuu and see how it goes."

"T-Thank you," she stuttered and lowered her eyes. The desire she felt for him came back with full force. She raised her gaze slightly to look at the smile playing about his lips, and her heart writhed and convulsed with desire. She had not seen him for a week. Her body could feel the heat rise from him—a palpable warm aura sliding against her. It felt so delicious to stand so close to him and let that needy part of her scrape at her walls, mad with lust.

"That's not the only thing I came here for," he paused and took out another scroll from his pocket, "there is an inconsistency between the dates your father gave me."

"What?" she asked through the haze of her thoughts.

"The date your father gave me? It doesn't match the date when the eyes were relinquished. You know, when the eyes are taken out like that, it leaves a trace of chakra behind, don't you?" he asked and drew close.

She nodded, her gaze bent on his face. He looked calm, serene, and a little playful. "Well, Nii-Sama's asked for an investigation into the matter. You understand, right?" he asked again, drawing closer still. "I want you to look into the matter. Your father doesn't even have to know." He smiled and his eyes glinted with a new playfulness she had never seen before.

"But—" Hinata fell silent and took the scroll from his hand. She unrolled it a little and looked at the Anbu Captain seal at the corner with another odd symbol she had never seen before. She rolled it back up again and clutched it tightly.

"Your father might not want the investigation, and Neji could get involved. I don't think it's necessary for the matter to escalate. It's better if you simply look into this and search for a few scrolls that might carry the symbol I showed you. Let's bury this matter. I don't want this to become an issue. I'm sure you'll agree," he said and created an innocent smile on his face.

"I—I agree," Hinata said and an innocent desire came up in her face and flushed the white cheeks with a vivid pink. She put the scroll on the table by the entrance door, her eyes not leaving his, enchanted by this new side of him. He was so different from the time he attacked her. Itachi was right: he did not have to know.

Hinata let out a burdened sigh and approached him. She stretched her hand and placed it against his cheek. He bit into his lower lip in a manner naughty children do, and her warm expression made a seductive smile appear on his face, his eyes red and feral. "Naruto will come here to get his things any minute now. I don't think it's the right time to play," he teased and lowered his eyes to her shaking fingers as she pulled down the zip of his jacket. She was still not used to _this_ intimacy.

Sasuke gave a soft laugh and grabbed her trembling wrist. He bent down his head and clamped his mouth over hers and felt her hasty tongue push into his mouth. _Well, if that's what she wants_. . . he thought in amusement. He grasped her thighs, lifted her up with ease, and settled her down on the table—her legs squeezed his hips.

Sasuke reached down and pulled at his zipper. Pushing her underwear aside, he created a little room for himself to enter her. He pressed the slick tip against her wet entrance and slipped inside in one smooth stroke. She let out a little sound and arched her back reflexively. Clasping her legs tightly around his hips, she kissed his jaw and nape, his skin hot under the touch of her lips. He moved in and out of her at a hard pace. The table banged against the wall, and a cup fell onto the floor with a loud crash. His warm breaths were harsh and ragged against her ear.

Hinata did not want him to stop. She did not want him to pull away. Her walls contracted against his flesh painfully, and he dug his fingers into her inner thighs, wedging her legs further apart as he drove into her harder and faster and at a more frenzied pace. She panted against him, lips pressed to his warm neck slick with sweat. His hair, stuck to the side of his jaw, smelt musky.

She twisted her neck and sucked on his lower lip that shuddered with arousal between her lips. He responded eagerly, twisting his tongue around hers, relishing the warmth of her sheath. It did not matter to him: she provided a good distraction. He broke the kiss suddenly, his eyes red. Then he pulled out quickly with a jerky movement and zipped up his pants.

Hinata ached between her legs, but she smoothed down her kimono. Her heated eyes watched him button up his shirt and pull the Jacket's zip up to his throat to hide the red marks on his nape. He stood calmly against the wall, and the next moment, the door opened and Naruto stepped in. His eyes widened in surprise. "Sasuke, you left so suddenly—I," he broke off, and his face split into a wide grin, "I cleared the mission."

A warm smile formed on Sasuke's face. He stretched his arm and slapped on Naruto's back. "Didn't I tell you it would be easy for you? But you always doubt yourself," he said with warmth in his voice.

Hinata's mouth twisted down. Sasuke . . . he cared for Naruto. She could not say she liked this side of him. She sat silently on the table, feeling the delightful moist wash of their arousal drying out between her thighs in the dry heat of the room.

"You promised you'll treat me to sake and ramen for a whole week," Naruto said with a broad smile and threw his arm around Sasuke's shoulders.

"A promise is a promise. Come on, let's go. We'll talk about your Jōnin application, too," Sasuke said and walked through the door without sparing her a moment's glance.

Naruto stuck his head in and twisted his neck to look at her. "I'll come by in the evening to collect my things. Just put them outside the door. I don't want to disturb you," he said, grinning from ear to ear . . . and then he left.

Their voices floated to her for a few moments, and then she could hear nothing other than the shushing sounds of the tall grass outside. Her gaze wandered slightly to the right. The scroll . . . it had fallen off the table. She leant back against the wall and took a long intake of breath. She would get the scroll. If that was what it took to pull away from her family, then so be it . . .

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Itachi sat down and turned the stamp in his hand. He closed his eyes and let out a breathy sigh. Sasuke's chakra lingered on it a bit. He had put his own upon it to make sure he would know if someone used his Anbu Seal without his permission. The darkness stood like sentinels around him, guarding his face. His whole body shuddered with fear this time. If Sasuke slipped, he would be caught for treason against Root, and killed . . .

He felt a knot of great pain in his heart, and it madly thudded as though a dying, snared animal, pitifully wriggling to get out of fate's pitiless trap. His cool facade was gone, his face an exquisite mask of sorrow and fear. Sasuke was lashing out; he was testing him the way he always did when he was angry. He closed his eyes, and his breaths and heart gentled, his mind racing. Could he beat his brother at his own game?

Who had he used the seal for? He placed his hand over his eyes, his fingers digging into his temples. He never really knew the whole affair, even in the past. How much did Sasuke hide from him about the Tulip Squad? The questions abraded the finely crafted landscape of his mind and powered through his calm. It shattered, hard raking waves crashing themselves upon it without a heart, without a pity.

He pressed his thumb to his dry lips. Someone was leaking out the information from Sasuke's team. He turned his red eyes to the door. Beyond the garden, stood Sakura, her chakra a meagre quantity compared to his own—so miserably weak, so pitifully fragile that he could snuff it out entirely with a tiny trickle of his own with such ease that it almost amused him. But the seal on her forehead held tons more. His mind kept coming back to her. He had cast his net. Now all he had to do was wait for this proverbial pink moth to scorch itself upon the flame.

Itachi stood up, grabbed his sword from the table, and pushed it into the sheath on his back; his mind came back to a web of memories and the spider that sat waiting upon its core . . . waiting. It had to be her. The thought pierced the wall of vengeance, and a spurt of red gushed out, drowning his conscience. He stepped out, walked through the garden, and stopped close to her; then his eyes appraised her life and what little worth she had.

Her cheeks burnt under his gaze before she spoke: "I brought along the supplies you asked of me, Itachi-Sama. Are we ready to leave?" Her eyes bounced around, avoiding his gaze.

He measured her worth, and his mind formed a perfect reason: if it was between _anyone_ and his beloved brother, then they had no worth—troubles always needed to be weeded out . . .

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	27. The Thieving Girl

**Chapter Twenty-Seven** : The Thieving Girl

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He downed one cup of sake, then two, then three . . . and let out a loud sigh. Then he filled his lungs with the warm air of restaurant: it was redolent with the fumes of alcohol and a sharp whiff of spices, his cheeks red, his half-mast eyes raised to look at the waitress wearing a plunging kimono; a silver chain dangling from her neck got lost between the squeeze of her breasts. She brought her arms together to deepen the cleavage—a leer upon her painted lips.

"One more," he rasped and knocked the small cup against the table. He slumped forward and pressed his cheek against the cold table.

The waitress skittered her fingers through the mop of unkempt black hair and whispered into his ear: "you're such a handsome drunk. Come in the back room and I'll give you sake and so much more." Her warm breath tickled on his nape. He strained his head a little to look at her and smiled.

"Maybe after you get me that cup, sweetheart," he said in a groggy voice and knocked the cup on the table again.

The woman took hold of his wrist and tried to raise him up to his feet when another strong hand firmly grabbed her arm. "Whoa, whoa! Calm down there, lady," said the man, a little loudly. "Hey, I saw that. Don't you dare go for his wallet again," he warned and sat down beside his friend, "and bring me one cup. Make it light."

The woman frowned and disappeared behind the beads hanging in back of the small counter. He returned his gaze to his friend and gave a hard tap on his back. "Oi, Sasuke! Quit drinking, you idiot! That was your twentieth cup. What's wrong with you?" he said with reproach and grabbed hold of his shoulders.

Naruto pulled him back to a sitting position; Sasuke's head was still hanging down from heavy intoxication. "I brought you here to have fun, Naruto. Well, aren't you having fun?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

Naruto sneezed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "I can hardly breathe in here," he remarked, looking around at the heavy smoke from incense and spices hanging in the air like a thick winter fog. "You know, I didn't ask you to bring me to this place. Three women have groped me, one nearly took off with my wallet, and you nearly got dragged off to the back room to get groped again. What's so special about this place anyway?" He scratched his yellow hair matted with sweat. The room was hot.

Sasuke let out a chuckle. "They serve a special kind of sake, good food, and the women here are really cheap. The self-proclaimed monks from Konoha come here to rut, what else? And you're no monk," he said and looked at Naruto from the corner of his misty eyes filled with tears from inhaling so many fumes in the room.

Naruto clucked his tongue, wearing a disapproving expression. "You're drunk," Naruto said in a heavy voice and threw his arm around Sasuke's shoulder. His warm, ocean-blue eyes regarded him strangely. He let out a sigh and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "What's the matter—you had a fight with Itachi?"

Sasuke made a sound of irritation and turned his head away. "So I _am_ right—great way to get around it. Get yourself robbed and groped by strange women. You sure have a fine way of settling things," he said with an air of defeat and looked at the woman who came from the back room with a small tray in her hands. She put down the cup before Naruto and glared at him. Her lips pursed as she cast one last hopeful look at Sasuke before disappearing behind the tinkling beads again.

Sasuke slapped his hand on the table, his head spinning. "Mounting a mistress daily—you're the one to talk," he retorted hoarsely and coughed, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. He had a hard time focusing on the cups in the racks and was seeing doubles.

Naruto drained his cup and placed it back on the table with a clink. "Yeah, I'm not the one who's drunk and wasted. What happened? Did he give you too many missions? Your brother is . . . strange," he said softly, fearing that any sharpness in his voice might incur Sasuke's wrath—it was a sensitive matter concerning his _Nii-Sama_ , after all.

Sasuke turned his head a little and fixed him with an angry glare. "Don't talk about Nii-Sama like that," he said heavily and propped his head in his hand. (And that day Naruto learnt that even softness did not work when _Itachi_ was the subject of discussion).

"Well, did he?" he asked and placed his elbows on the table.

Sasuke remained silent for a few moments. Then he breathed out loudly and wiped away the sheen on his forehead. "Back to back missions for thirty-six hours. I don't even have an hour of free time between the missions. If I don't complete what he left me—" he stopped as a wry smile pulled at his mouth, "—I'll be demoted to the Chūnin rank." He emitted a half-hearted, forced laugh and tipped his head back to look up at the beads hanging down from the low roof. They looked as though they were swaying and floating above his head.

Naruto's mouth hung open in shock. "He's joking, right?" he asked with a nervous grin on his sweaty face.

Sasuke straightened his head and shoulders. He shook his head and traced the marks on the table (left by sake) with the tip of his quivering fingers—sake had soaked through its wood for years. Naruto clamped his hand on Sasuke's shoulder. "Why—is he mad? What's wrong with your brother? It's just like last time when he didn't want me on the team. You fought with him and he ended up discharging you from duty on disciplinary grounds. I get that he's strict, but for Sage's sake, this is crazy!" he spat out, his blue eyes bulging with anger.

"Naruto, I've told you time and time again not to talk about Nii-Sama like that," he growled and knocked his elbow against the table; then he rose to his shaky feet and waded his way out of the restaurant.

"Hey, wait up, you fool! You're still drunk. Some shady woman will grope and rob you," Naruto yelled from behind. He slapped the tip on the counter and ran behind Sasuke. When he stepped outside, the breeze outside hit his warm skin with a delightful chill. Sweat drops shivered off his brow, and his skin trembled under the sudden assault of cold. He looked around and found Sasuke bent over beside a tree . . . vomiting.

He spat out, probably, the last cup of sake on the ground and slumped down against the tree. Naruto walked to him and stopped by the tree, his eyes wandering skyward to look up at the crescent in the sky. It was a clear night. "Come on, let me help you up," he said and held out a hand to him.

Sasuke took a whiff of the fresh air and sighed out. "Just . . . give me a few moments," he murmured in reply, breathing heavily, his eyes downcast and his expression guarded. He was gathering his stray senses.

Naruto stretched and put his hands behind his head. "Man, you're a handful. You haven't even changed. That uniform probably stinks now," he said, yawning. He rubbed sleep from his eyes. "I'm hitting the sack when I get back—oi, Sasuke, don't fall asleep." He lightly tapped his shoulder and grabbed his limp arm. "That's it, I'm taking you home. Come on, easy does it." Naruto threw Sasuke's arm around his shoulder and curled his other arm around his waist.

"You fool, I've a mission in an hour," Sasuke protested, getting annoyed.

Naruto pulled him closer and chuckled. "Fine, you can get a power nap and I'll wake you up fifteen minutes before the mission. Happy? Oi, I said don't fall asleep or I'm gonna carry you on my back. What will people think?" he joked and gave a soft laugh.

Sasuke touched the side of his head and narrowed his eyes to a squint. "Damn you, don't yell in my ear. My head hurts." He winced and clutched at his stomach. It was hurting like hell.

"Your own fault. Told you not to drink that much." Naruto laughed and turned to the long winding road to Konoha. It was night and all the colourful lanterns were lit. Konoha was a twinkling lake against the backdrop of night. The fragile yellow leaves above them shook as the night breeze rushed through them. They quivered and prayed to not be parted from the tree.

"Say, Sasuke," he paused, steadying him, "you told me Mist's lake was beautiful at night. I want to see it. I've never been outside the village that much, you know. Father hardly allowed it. It would be a great trip—just the two of us. What do you say?" He stopped in his tracks and drank in the sight of fog around the boundaries of the village.

Sasuke raised his eyes and looked beyond the haze of the mist and night playing tricks on his eyes. The alcohol was wearing off. He took in a lungful of air and spoke, "sure, why not. We can do a mission together there."

"Huh? I was thinking about camping or something, but all right," Naruto said and started walking down the slope. The wind rushed at them from behind: the cool mountain air was moving down the slope. It nipped at their skin—so cold and light.

Sasuke coughed again and sniffed the cool air. "Don't be silly. I don't have time for camping these days. Why don't you concentrate on your Jōnin trials rather than day-dreaming about camping? You're still so irresponsible and flippant," he remarked and picked up the pace—it felt as if they were jogging down the slope.

Naruto's smile broadened. He titled his head a little to look at Sasuke's sobering face. "You passed on the application?" he asked, looking shocked.

"I did. Maybe that'll teach you to finally drop that conniving woman," Sasuke said, nettled.

Naruto groaned in response, his face a little tense. "Don't talk about Sakura-Chan like that. That's not nice. You can be so mean," he said, his voice filled with reproach.

Sasuke broke into a laugh so hard that his body shook. "I'll call a rusty kunai a rusty kunai," he broke off and breathed in and out loudly, "keep indulging her till she drops you behind and goes off her merry way. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Sasuke, I—" he stopped with a heavy sigh, "never mind." They walked silently down the slope. The mist steadily rose from the grass and enveloped them . . .

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Sitting under the weak light of the candle set high on the desk, Hinata riffled through the scrolls. Night had fallen, her father's anger spent, her resolve strong against its resolute, advancing steps. She had steadied herself after the catharsis, and viewing her life through a kaleidoscope of emotions, she thought herself to be above her former self: a little less timid, a little less vulnerable.

A cloud of dust rose up into the air when she set the scroll down, with a little force, on the wooden table. The wood underneath it creaked. She turned on her Byakugan, soft veins bulging harshly around her eyes. They were all asleep. She had brought few scrolls with herself to copy the details if she found anything, and she would leave the front door with the same number. It was not like they ever thought her to be clever.

Hinata clenched her teeth and cast an angry glance at her father, who tossed and turned on his bed in distress. He had spent his entire youth without the warmth of a woman. Her mother died when she was just ten years old. Years of loneliness had, perhaps, made him a little hard and a little uncaring.

Her features softened, and the veins shrank on her pale face, stinging with the bite of the chill in the dusty storage-space. The air in here pressed against her like a cold wall of neglect. A pile of dust lay thick next to the jute bags in the corner. This place had not been cleaned in so long. Pressing her arm against her lips, she broke into a cough. A cool wash of memories upon her mind splashed sorrow across her young face; if her mother had not died, her father would never have been so desolate.

She felt wretched and unhappy. The pendulum of her consciousness moved back and forth between reason and lust, loyalty and betrayal, emotions and passions. Leaning her back against the dusty wall, she let out a shaky sigh of regret. She had made Sasuke her lover with such relish; he played hard to get when he desired and then let the elusive threads of passion loose from his body when he wanted—just like that.

Hinata's frail fingers trembled on the wooden floor. She raised them to look at the dust caked beneath her fingertips, and on her palm and wrist. She wiped her hand clean on her kimono, her thoughts racing back to Sasuke. Thoughts of him invaded her mind: the memory of heat rising from her body that pressed against his . . . brought out sensations she had never felt before. She squeezed her eyes shut—the sting of betrayal was a scourge upon her vow.

She loved him; she wanted him; she desired him. Tears filled her eyes, and a tremble in her skin made one slip down her cheek. Hastily, she raised her hand to wipe it away as if leaving it burn there was hurting her pride. She had become so pathetic, so weak before her lust, falling back on him over and over again and casting her desire-filled gaze upon him to feel the delightful weight of lusty sensations around her, on her body, and in her mind.

Her eyes dilated and darkened with desire. Even when he was so far, he had such an effect on her. Like a pantomime show for children, he moved his finger and the string tied to her clumsy body responded with the precision and eagerness of the lifeless gestures of a puppet. She could sense herself losing it whenever he touched her. Her skin burnt with an ache that shattered her peace, her vows, her dignity, and she felt little remorse for it.

Regret: what was that feeling? Hinata's face contorted. There was a little anger in the voices of reason in her mind. She sighed out in defeat and opened the two scrolls in her lap. A look of disappointment came into her face, and she set them aside on the pile to the right. They were not what she wanted? But what did she want?

She slumped her head over her knees, her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders hunched. "Naruto," she whispered, shaking, "why did you never love me? Why did you n-never care for me? Do you even care where I stand now—on the edge of shame, betrayal, and anger? It's your fault—it's _all_ your fault." She laid all the blame on him, thick and uncompromising against his will.

Pulling her head back, she stared at the flame burning on the wick. It flickered very slightly. The breeze was too weak to travel this far down the basement. It must have lost its strength, trying to desperately sneak through so many gaps under the doors and around the windows. A moth fluttered over it and burnt its wings black as soon as the tip of the flame touched their soft tips. It writhed and died within seconds.

Naruto was to blame; his madness, she had seen it with her own eyes, denuded before her in the dark when no prying eye could bear witness to his cruelty. He had crushed her then, humiliated her, broken her will. Looking back at the sorrowful memory, she felt that his soft-blue eyes that had once looked at her with the tenderness of a friend were a hazy memory. Did she feel remorse, shame, for breaking away from him?

Sasuke had told her that someone cast a Genjutsu on him and stole the scrolls in his possession the other day. Is that why he attacked her—was so merciless to her? She did not know what to think. It seemed like such a pretty lie, but it was not as if she knew him to be sure.

She turned her head away: the flame stood before her like an austere judge—to weigh her mischief and missteps that drove her further down the path of desires. Her fingers moved through her dry hair, her gaze resting on the small trunk by her feet. It had a seal on it that would only open if a Head family member touched the lock. She touched it and found the seal on the old paper she was looking for greet her.

The ink had soaked through all the way to the back. This was made with haste in the past. Hinata pulled out the only scroll sitting on so many that were fragile and unreadable. Her Byakugan could tell that time had eaten away at them. She unrolled it and read the details of a deal between her Clan, Minato, and someone else—the symbol was foreign to her. It involved a large payment. The smell of old paper crawled up her nostrils. Her mind was caught in a web: why did her father not tell her of this?

Turning it around, Hinata found nothing of interest. It was a deal overseen by Danzō. What would Sasuke want with such a useless thing? She took out a blank scroll from a bag tied to a single strap around her waist, made a few hand-seals Sasuke had taught her, and watched the letters emerge like a magic trick across its surface. Every colour, every line found its way on the blank surface and filled it with chakra ink right down to the seal pattern. It was done.

Hinata breathed out loudly, her face blank. She put the scroll back into the trunk and shoved the copied one into her bag. She sat still for a few moments, and a smile disturbed her face. She wanted to run away. With this . . . would Sasuke aid her in becoming a Chūnin? She sighed as if sensing the heat of his lips upon hers. With this, would he willingly come near her, make her feel loved when she would crave without remorse for him again?

Hinata closed her fluttering eyes. Back and back, through the darkness in her mind, her body throbbed and her throat ached. A wanton sigh spilt from her lips, warm against the cool air around her. It was like a misty tendril of fog on a winter's morn. Her fingers trembled on her thighs as a fanciful reverie of an intemperate lust (of the unsatisfied mind and body) snared her with such deliberate brutality.

Her mind took a flight and created a pretty illusion of her beneath him, her lips eagerly feeling the hot skin on his nape, his body pressing heatedly against hers—the mad surge of his hips, the harsh sighs from his lips, and the passion flickering across his face . . . and she sighed. It mattered not. She would run away from here. She would find her own peace because that was all she knew in life . . .

# # # # # #

Itachi tapped the katana against his leg. He looked a bit impatient, though it was hardly a surprise that his face was as cold as ever. If there was not a slight tremble of his eyelids, Suigetsu would have thought him to be a statue made out of wax, dragged out from one of those theatre-shows for all spectators to see.

His expression softened quite suddenly and Suigetsu gave a start as if a chakra tag-bomb had just gone off right under his buttocks. "Suigetsu, stop jumping around," he said and pushed the sword into the sheath on his back.

"Right, boss!" Suigetsu said and quickly turned his laugh into a cough at the sight of Itachi's frown. Next to him stood Sakura, her head bent and eyes raised to stare at Itachi. A mild blush graced her cheeks, though the shadows were too thick to give her away.

"What is taking them so long? I do not have an entire day for this foolishness," he said and turned his eyes to Sakura who raised her head attentively to look back at him. "Sakura, go and see what is keeping him."

She gave a quick nod and jogged through the open gate. A symbol of ember was etched on the plank above the gate. This was a small village with very few Shinobis. Tsunade had sent him here to make sure the emissary of another village made it safely to Konoha and back. It was Sasuke's mission, but leaving him to wander off on his own meant nothing but trouble now.

Sakura disappeared behind the darkness on the narrow street, just beyond the gate. "The broad's a clumsy Sensor, Itachi-Sama. Why didya bring her along?" Suigetsu asked and reached to his back to grab the hilt of the massive sword. He always touched it for no reason at all—it was an unhealthy habit of his.

Itachi turned around and half of his face came under the shadow of the night. "You ask so many questions," he replied as a mild smile ghosted over his lips.

"That's what a man does when things don't make sense," Suigetsu said, his white face turning mischievous.

"And you talk too much," Itachi remarked, the smile still lingering on his face.

"And that's what a man does when he's really bored," he said with glee, passing his tongue over his sharp teeth that sparkled as though they possessed a light of their own.

"Then I suggest you dig a little hole by the gate and play a game of marbles and try to roll one marble out of it at a time," he said in a flat tone of voice.

Suigetsu burst out laughing. "Yor funny, Itachi-Sama. I mean ya hardly look it, but yor funny!" he choked out, and wiped the tears from his eyes with a very exaggerated gesture. "But, I gotta say, wasn't this Sasuke's mission?"

"Still so concerned about my brother's duty-roster? Your interest in his well-being is truly touching," he said without emotion and cupped his chin and looked up at the sky hidden behind a sheet of grey clouds.

Suigetsu bent down and picked up a small rock. "Yor such a mean bro. Ya took his mission and left 'im to rot in the village with back ta back missions for three days, didn'tchya? He wasn't goin' ta run away, ya know. Come on, Itachi-Sama, where's the love?" he said loudly, raising his hands into the air dramatically as if he was praying to the gods.

Itachi did not say anything. His Sharingan was out as he scanned the gates. The wind rushed to him, and the hair in his ponytail flared away from his ears in waves. Suigetsu smiled behind him and threw the rock at the metallic gate: the rock clanked against it, ricocheted off at a sharp angle, and fell into the darkness to the right.

"Why didn't ya bring Jūgo along? He's a good Sensor. I think all that hard work's getting' to ya! Just get a fancy whore and calm yorself. That's what I'll do—if I had enough money and yor looks," he said and pushed the stray hair out of his eyes.

Itachi cast him an amused look. "I do not think it is necessary now to keep track of my odourless crows through his Natural Energy sensing skills, would you not agree?" he asked slowly with a soft smile on his face.

Suigetsu's boyish grin turned into a laugh. "You may think I do not know my own brother, but you will be surprised that no one knows him more than I. I know why he kept Jūgo, and I know why he kept Karin. He wants to guard himself against my intrusions. I granted his wishes to induct you all as I had no desire to see him unhappy. He believes me to be an intruder in his affairs, and he tends to get carried away like an innocent child, lost in his playtime, when he knows it needs to end now. And he kept you," Itachi paused, bending his dark, meaningful gaze full upon Suigetsu's face, "as you seem to share some interests with him. I hope you do not think you ever tricked me."

Suigetsu pressed his knuckle to his quivering lips, a delightful laugh rumbling up from the back of his throat. "'Course not. Why would ya ever think that? Ya know I've always admired that schemin' noggin of yours. It's got nothin' but my respect," Suigetsu said, laughing, and gave a low bow. Then he raised his head a little and looked back at Itachi's eyes steeped in red. "But ya do tend ta give into Sasuke's emotional blackmailing—kinda always. I guess his noggin ain't that bad, either. He just knows how to get past ya. Ain't that adorable?"

"Did you do what I asked of you? I hope you did not come along to flap your gums and make foolish comments. I could have brought Hinata along to humour me then," he said by barbing his words with disdain.

Suigetsu feigned indignation. "Come now—comparin' me to that bimbo? That's so mean. 'Course, it's done. I left my Water-Clone with yor crow next ta her room just like ya asked. Am gonna slip in, look through that whore's soiled knickers to find the Root seal, and slip out. Easy-peasy—job done!" he assured and slapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly.

Itachi steered his gaze to Sakura who yelled out a confirmation that the stay here was confirmed. He started walking to the gate, with Suigetsu behind him. He kept his face blank, his spirit seething—three days and this would be settled . . .

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	28. Daemons and Eyes

**Chapter Twenty-Eight** : Daemons and Eyes

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His sweat plopped on the scroll and soaked through the scroll-paper. Few more drops fell down and graced the blank side before he decided to wipe his glistening forehead harshly against the thick, and slightly coarse, material of his sleeve. He took a breath; the cool wind felt foreign on his hot skin.

He could feel the heat from the flame, in the lantern, on his face. The warm blood rang in his ears like the tolls of heavy shrine bells. His fever was spiking again. He squeezed his eyes shut and jerked them open to focus on the two scrolls on the clean office table. His vision swam like a heaving boat, and he sensed his Sharingan, rudely and disobediently, flicker and fulminate against his wishes.

Despite his miserable state, a glimmer of a cold smile shivered on his colourless lips: the rest his face did not cede to the warmth of triumph. It was still too soon to call this a victory. _A small win—a favourable foray_ , he thought. Hinata was as much of an obedient fool he always thought her to be. She was at his command over something as meagre as lust. How easy was it for him to bring her to her knees? Oh, how easy.

He blinked hard and the smile faltered, his eyes moist, glinting with red malice. He would make them pay. He would make them suffer, and she would be the one to pull at the fateful string attached to that blood smeared guillotine, and it would be " _off with the traitor's head_ ", then. He forced down a humourless laugh.

 _Fools, the lot of them!_ he wanted to spit out, but the thoughts remained chained to his secrets. He liked keeping them to himself. They were like toys, and he, a little child who never intended to part with them. Each was exquisite, magnificent, and tempting in its own way. What good would it do to end this playtime? A mild frown came over his face, and he bit his lower lip. His brother would not beat him at his game. He would not let him. He would not allow him.

 _So stubborn, you unruly child_ , the cold words of his brother rang in his mind. He received a reprimand for his actions in the forest—a punishment for talking back. But he was stubborn still. As if the lash of his words were enough to damper his soaring spirits! He clucked in satisfaction. It was as though Itachi did not know him at all. How foolish of his older brother. He smiled a childish smile of innocent amusement.

Bringing his veering thoughts back to the scrolls, he traced the seal with the tip of his shaking finger. His knees felt weak to support his body. He placed his hands on the table and slumped over. His vision focused and unfocused: the room seemed to distort around him, but he did not have enough time to care for his own misery.

Sasuke moved his keen eyes back and forth between the two scrolls: the payment for Byakugans was made before he was even born. He sharply turned his head to the right. A large payment was made under Danzō's supervision to Yagura. His heart raced, the feeling exquisite. He really was close. So close.

The sum was huge: several thousand gold coins. Right on the bottom was a seal he had never seen before. It was some kind of Jutsu bartered to gain something from the Tulip Squad; something about it was so familiar. But . . . damn this scroll. He clenched his teeth, his face working into a red fury. It said nothing about what was even taken from the other side.

Agitated, with something of an angry scowl on his flushed face, he raised his head to look at the woman who walked in through the door. "Took your sweet time," he bit out the words as if he was dragging them across the rough rocks on the shore with relish.

Karin fingered the frame of her glasses. She wore a tense look. "You know, Sasuke, it isn't my fault your brother's punishing you. Don't take it out on me—it isn't fair," she said, her voice heavy, her expression subtle.

Sasuke stood straight. "Did you do it or not?" he asked in a cold voice. He blinked and squinted whilst he showed her his fury with the character of his features.

Karin let out a defeated sigh and walked around the table. She placed her hand on his forehead and looked startled. "Sasuke, you're burning. Go home and lie down for a while. You have another mission in an hour. Don't waste your time on this scroll now. You have it now, don't you? It isn't running away," she reasoned in a soft voice, looking into his eyes rimmed by the most uncharacteristically deep black circles. He had not slept in two days—only power naps of a few minutes were keeping him afloat.

His face was gaunt and pallid, his lips paper white. "Well," he paused and let out a heavy breath, "did you?" He raised his shaking hand.

"I did it, okay? The seals you showed me on the other one are typical Root seals. Your brother has 'em in his office. It's even got the same signature chakra—but for Sage's sake, Sasuke! Do you want to kill yourself? What's wrong with you?" she asked in disbelief and pushed him down into the chair. She rolled her sleeve up and pressed her soft arm to his lips. "Bite it—it'll bring down your fever a bit."

Sasuke looked from her arm to her face with an annoyed expression. "Come on," she spoke sweetly and sat down on his right thigh, "don't be stubborn."

He sighed and sank his teeth into her arm and broke the soft skin there. His eyes fluttered close, and he almost swooned at the sensation: he drank her blood with such thirst, feeling as if he had never tasted anything so warm and sweet. Her chakra coursed through his veins and imbued his body with a delicious, hot sensation of calm. She let out a loud and vulgar moan—something he was accustomed to ever since they became acquaintances. When he backed away, he saw a rosy blush on her cheeks. So predictable.

Karin moved her arm up and watched as the marks, and the purple bruise, healed on their own. Clasping her arms around his neck, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Feeling better?" she asked in the same, sugary sweet voice he knew to be fake from experience.

He leant back and felt the burden on his body lessen. The enervating heat vanished into something more manageable. "Where's Jūgo?" he asked and looked up at the lantern above his desk. The sun was nearly below the horizon, and the shadows were already rising ominously in the office.

"You haven't seen the duty-roster your brother left?" She quirked her brow and twisted her back to grab the scroll from the table. "He left with Serizawa, Kai, and Naruto to do a B-Rank mission for Tsunade—something about a businessman or something."

"Fantastic," he said in a harsh voice, his lips twisting in a scowl.

"Aren't Serizawa and Kai your cousins?" she asked.

"Distant cousins," he corrected with the flick of his hand.

"I thought you liked Serizawa?" Karin asked, and when he didn't answer, she brushed back the strands of black hair stuck to his face and spoke again: "your brother doesn't want this done. Isn't it obvious?"

"Thank you, I probably never would've guessed had you not made it so humanly obvious," he said sarcastically and looked at her up and down as though she was mocking him.

"That's not what I meant," she broke off and pressed her back against the edge of the table, "is it even necessary to fight Itachi? Talk to him. I'm sure he'll listen." She stood up and placed the scroll back on the table.

He cast a curious eye over her fair face. "We both know you aren't that foolish. You think he'll listen to me—when my protests have earned me these punishments? I hope, for your sake, you're just trying your hand at humour—and failing," he said heavily, putting force into his words.

"He's not going to stop. How long do you want to keep this up? You retaliate, he punishes you. You step out of line, he punishes you. You ask for answers, he punishes you. This is crazy. If he's not backing down, then maybe, you should try something different, or—" she stopped at the look of rage in his face.

"Or what?" he hissed coldly and got to his feet. "Go on, say it that I should stop—let bygones be bygones. Forget about my parents' disgraceful deaths. Is that what you want me to do? Accept that my parents deserved to be put down like dogs? Accept the slaughter of my people?" He emitted an emotionless laugh.

Karin raised her eyes to meet his. "That's not what I meant," she began and grabbed his hand, "I'm just saying that you should slow down. You're killing yourself. You just got a little better after two weeks of suffering from high fever, and look at yourself now—back in the same boat again. If you keep this up, you won't get anything done. That's all I'm saying. I'm not your enemy, Sasuke."

She stretched on her toes, her lips at his throat. "Yeah, go ahead and ignore me. You know I'm right," she said irritably as he moved to grab the other scroll from the table.

He held it up and tapped his finger against the symbol on the scroll. "What's this? It looks like a Fuin-Jutsu symbol of the Uzumaki clan. I get a feeling that I've seen this before," he said, his eyes moving on her face.

She grabbed it, her eyes wide. "Where did you get this?" she asked as if awed by something.

"It doesn't matter. What does it mean?" he asked, with a bit of impatience this time.

"You're right. It's an Uzumaki Fuin-Jutsu. This is a sealing Jutsu for the daemonic essence. Look, it has a triangle symbol. Which means—" Her lips pulled into a smile, her eyes widening with wonder as if she had come across something secret, something magnificent.

"Isobu, the three tails daemonic essence," he replied back, his face oddly blank.

"Well, I don't think I need to tell you the rest, but it seems like Danzō and his sympathisers paid Mist and the Tulip Squad a hell lot more than a couple of eyes," she whispered, afraid that someone might overhear their conversation.

Sasuke threw the scroll on the table and breathed out flames from his lips. The flames danced over the scrolls. They crinkled and burnt on the glass. Within a second, only a small pile of ashes was left behind on his desk. He slumped down into the chair, frightened of this new thread . . .

# # # # # #

"Kindly, let us through. Do not make this unpleasant," Itachi said in a polite tone of voice, his face carrying the hint of a smile.

Raindrops coursed down his white face, his hand locked to his weapon. Behind him stood Suigetsu with his deft, ever-ready hand on the hilt of the executioner blade. It had a few unsightly chinks in its metal. The struggling light of the sun shone on its large blade that was sharp and big enough to cut a man in two.

Sakura stood alert, her face tense. A frail old man hid behind her slim figure. His crooked hands quivered on her shoulders in fear. She moved her fingers and turned on her Byakugō seal and a purplish chakra sprang out: it twisted around the contours of her face and ran down her arms and breasts.

Suigetsu chuckled. "Don't be a cunt, brah. Ya don't know who this guy is. I'm tellin' ya, he'll kill ya like no body's business. Even starin' at his tight arse's such an honour for me and pinky-chan—yah, her hair's real. I know, right? Fuckin' crazy pink shit!" he said incredulously. "Just run along and suck on some tits or cocks, if ya swing that way—bury your tiny goose in some hopeless hole and calm yorself. Why do ya wanna die? Just let us through."

"Suigetsu, do not use such coarse language," Itachi said calmly and shook his head in a disapproving manner.

Suigetsu pulled his sword out of the old-looking leather sheath and pinned it into the soggy ground. "Why, boss, ya don't like compliments? I love handin' 'em out to ya like dangos." He clapped his hands together, grinning.

The man in front looked mortified. His face twitched in disgust. "Dear Sage, shut your gob! You talk a lot for a pissy little water monkey. Just hand over the man and we'll be on our way." The man in front drew his weapon and took on an aggressive stance. He was ready to strike.

"I will not ask you again—let us through," Itachi said, and his eyes grew sinister. His Sharingan whirled to life, and the man in front staggered back, surprised that he was dealing with an Uchiha.

"Uchiha . . . " he whispered and gulped down the hard lump in his throat. The expression of smugness drained from his face, replaced by this primal fear instilled into his mind by the ill-omened red in the taller man's eyes.

A clever smile came into his eyes. Three kunais flew towards them from the back and got deflected with ease. The man blinked. He did not even see Itachi move. His face contorted, his limbs convulsed as he raised his hand to his throat. A spray, like red plumes, exploded out of the necks of the two men in front.

They thudded to the ground, dead. Blood soaked through the mud and began to quickly disappear. Itachi's pale face shivered a bit with disgust. He wiped away the blood from the side of his face and looked at it as it got diluted by the rain into a mild pink colour on his palm. It ran down from between his fingers and disappeared—its warmth, a fleeting sensation.

He looked over his shoulder and brought his eyes upon the old man shaking behind Sakura; his fear-stricken face was frozen in mid-scream. "Tetsu-San, kindly, come here." He indicated with the flick of his hand. The man wobbled to him, raising his kimono high enough, like a dainty woman, for his spindly knees to come into full view.

He squelched through the mud like a lady of high-stature, his round belly shaking as if he was wading through raging water that would sweep him away without any shout for help. "Others are still around. You two are capable enough to—" Itachi stopped mid-sentence as he staggered forward from the belly thrust at him from behind. He caught his balance and half-turned, his eyes widening.

The man was shaking from head to toe, his knees knocking together, and he had his arms around Itachi's waist in a tight embrace. Suigetsu had the back of his hand pressed to his lips as he shook with silent laughter. Sakura's eyes grew wider. She had a mild blush on her cheeks. "Tetsu-San, it is not necessary to cling to me so closely. We can protect you," he said with a straight face and tried to pry his arms open gently—but the man did not move.

"I w-will pay you more, boy, if you spare me your calm-me-down pep-talk and pretty bullshit. I'm not dying here—not today. These assholes have been out for my behind and blood for months. Don't you tell me not to worry with that pretty mouth of yours. You look like a capable shinobi. So enough with the jibber-jabber and stand still and let me hide behind you," he said in a single breath, his jaw rigid.

Itachi opened his mouth to say something but heaved a sigh in its stead. "Never mind, just clean up this area. Both of you. The sooner we end this, the better. We have to escort him back, as well, and it already seems like a monstrous task," he said with mild irritation: a vein throbbed in his temple, and his jaws clenched as though he was in pain when he felt the man crush his belly against his back. "Well, move."

"I thought you was gonna say, spare me yor somethin' else, pretty please. But, oh, well—next time, right, Tetsu-San? You da man!" Suigetsu winked at him and disappeared with Sakura behind the trees. It did not take long for one mischievous High-Jōnin and the other Chūnin class ninja to tear up the men hiding like rats in the trees.

Itachi had his Sharingan out. He gauged Sakura's worth again. She had a lot of chakra in her forehead seal—enough to make quite a few Kage-Bunshins and still more to make it back to the prisoner and release enough of it to smash the rocks to pieces and . . . a heart, as well. It appeared to be her unique ability to gather precise chakra into her hands and release it against a single point with devastating results.

 _Could it be?_ he brushed off the thought (for the moment) and waited for them to finish the task . . .

# # # # # #

The dull light from the lantern overhead flickered. Itachi raised his head to gaze up, looking slightly agitated. They made it safely back from Konoha, but he did not even get the chance to see his own brother. Tetsu proved to be quite the handful, cowering behind him and clinging to all three whenever danger presented itself in any form. The man was an annoyance, and he was glad that they made it back in time. Now, they just had to stay there till the meeting ended and this ridiculous task would be behind him.

Presently, he sat in his guest room with a scroll in hand, his eyes upon the details; but it seemed as though he had other pressing concerns. He rolled up the scroll and placed it back on the table. Sakura sat opposite, her eyes slightly misty from anticipation. "Why have you come to me for this?" he asked and slipped one leg over the other.

Sakura cleared her throat, her gaze bent upon the Sharingan in his eyes. She lost her train of thought for a moment, but composed herself to speak again, her voice a little too timid: "I thought it would be appropriate to go directly to the Anbu Captain for this—that's all." She bent her head and rubbed her trembling hands together. She was nervous.

Itachi took in a deep breath and created a cold smile on his face. "It is slightly outrageous that you believe I will indulge you like your mentor," he said in a low, smooth voice, his face blank.

Sakura jerked her head up, her face enveloped by embarrassment. "N-No, Itachi-Sama, that's not it. I just—I wanted matters to expedite, because Sasuke—he—" she mumbled and fell silent.

"You have so many grievances with my brother," he said heavily and narrowed his eyes, "you try to bypass his authority all the time through your mentor. Is there any particular reason for this disdain? I am just a little curious." And then he was wearing such a strange smile that she shivered.

She chewed on her lower lip, pulled her eyes off his face, dark under the soft drape of a shadow, and moved them downward to her lap. Bitter tears welled up, and she saw them fall over her shaking fingers. "Your brother, he . . . he humiliates me all the time," her voice wobbled and shook with emotion. "I just want him to tell me what mistakes I've made for him to hate me so much. I-It isn't fair." She lifted her head and harshly wiped away the tears with the back of her hand.

Itachi's smile had not vanished. He tilted his head slightly to the left—his eyes had that flicker of amusement. "I will ask him the reason as to why he treats you so unfairly, but he told me that you were forced upon him by the Hokage. You failed your tests, and he had to go through a lot of trouble to make sure you stayed on the team. Is it true?" he asked in a cool voice. Her tears had had no effect on his demeanour.

Tears and eyes and faces . . . such things never thawed his heart and his resolve. Unless, it was not his beloved brother, he always found them to be cheap tricks—means to an end. People adored to exploit them and made them work with emotions to sway the other in their favour. He thought this girl to be so foolish, so cheap. How did she assume he would be moved by this show? She seemed to have a knack for overestimating her abilities.

"I," she paused, blinking back more ready-made tears he was starting to find a tad bit irksome, "I did a task for Fū-San."

Itachi raised an eyebrow, and his deliberate, fake smile almost slipped off his lips. "Fū? He does not have the authority to ask for such assistance. You have done missions for Danzō? I saw nothing of the sort in your reports," he said with a slight amount of surprise in his voice.

Sakura nodded but did not repeat Danzō's name. There was no need for Itachi use an honorific for Root's Head. They were of equal rank. The only ones above Itachi now were the Hokage and the Daimyō. "I had to make a poison and its antidote for him. It took me many weeks to make it, but I was successful," she explained with a broad smile.

"What sort of poison?" he asked, pressing his thumb to his lips, his eyes looking at her intently. She was not experienced enough to espy the fleeting emotions surfacing and disappearing in their depths like the night ocean serpents of the deep—so secretive, so slippery, so elusive. It was always difficult for any eye to catch his emotions in its firm gaze. They were fleeting.

"It combines the venom of a small spider and the enzymes found in—" she stopped suddenly, looking unsure as if she should even say it, "in . . . in the purple lilies." She lowered her eyes immediately when she saw something flare automatically in Itachi's eyes, like a reflexive jerk of a chakra-imbued synthetic-automaton's lifeless body in the hands of a skilled puppeteer. His eyes brightened—like fires. Just like Fires.

Sakura peered through the darkness and looked fearfully at the Mangekyō Sharingan pattern glowing in a threatening manner in his eyes, though his inscrutable face gave no suggestion of what passed in his savage mind. He managed a small smile, and his eyes cooled off. "I see," he said softly, "I will speak to Sasuke, but I am afraid you will have to take your Captain into confidence over the Jōnin trials business. I cannot intervene here and give you any free access. Otherwise, people will assume such . . . terrible things." A subtle emotion rushed across his face, but her eyes were unable to register it.

Sakura nodded weakly. Itachi grabbed the scroll and held it out. "You may leave," he said as a knock came upon the door.

She stretched her hand, and her finger brushed accidentally against his. A sudden flare of heat rose up to her skin, and it tingled as his hot chakra stabbed her resolve. She caught her sigh in her spasming throat, and a thin layer of mist came across her eyes. She blinked and saw Itachi standing as he opened the latch of the lantern overhead to let out a small spit of fire. The wick caught it with such eagerness, and the flame burnt with a newfound life.

The heated feeling washed away. Sakura pressed her hand to her breast and felt her heart throb violently. Her hands and vision were not steady. Her gaze wavered a bit as she moved her unwilling feet towards the door.

"Prepare the part of your mission-report tomorrow and submit it to me before we leave," his voice came to her from a faraway corner of the world—so whispery, so sweet. She did not turn her lusty gaze to him, lest he would break her now—it would shame her so. She gave an awkward nod and grabbed the handle of the door when he spoke again, "I do find it rather peculiar that of all the flowers, you chose the purple lily . . . a flower Sasuke so adores." He smiled but did not turn his head to see her silently leave through the door.

Suigetsu stepped in and closed the door behind him. He was swaddled down to his ankles in a large robe, with a smile sparkling on his face. "Pinky-Chan's such a lil' tramp, Itachi-Sama. I hope ya haven't taken a likin' to her. Ya deserve the finest of birds," he chirped.

Itachi walked around the table and closed the window at the far end of the room. He could still feel cold air make it in through the chinks around the window. He turned around, his eyes red: she was in her room. It was safe to talk now. "I hope you know I did not bring you here for theatrics. I have seen quite the show just now and it has bored me," he said, a bit brusquely.

Suigetsu created an offended look on his face. "Hey, now! Don't take her anger out on me. I put my life and eyes in danger to get these. Yor crow nearly poked my eyes out—thrice! That nasty lil' bird was outta control," he said in mock outrage and handed over a scroll to Itachi. "She's keepin' an eye on Naruto. And just like ya said, the bitch's reportin' to that rotten poop-snortin' old fart, Danzō. She's been doin' it for the past two years."

"Right about the time she was forced upon my brother by the charitable Hokage," Itachi mused.

Suigetsu scratched the back of his head; the lack of cool air in the room was making it a bit hot for him to speak and think. "That's not all. She knows about the daemonic essence in that blond nutter and has been told ta keep watch and report when he goes loopy. Pretty shitty thing ta do—when he's knockin' her up an' all that," he said and walked to the window, letting the small amount of air hit his face. It felt good.

Itachi was quiet. The details were odd: keeping track of Naruto's timings, what he did, and where he went; how much control he had; when he lost control . . . the list was long. "It does not speak of what she utilizes to make him lose control. It could be some sort of seal. She probably left this in a hurry when I called her for the mission. I believe we were lucky," he said and rolled up the scroll.

"Why don'tchya just Genjutsu it outta this bitch? It ain't tough for ya. If ya can plant funny images into Sasuke's head, then she'll be no trouble for ya," he said and placed his hands on his hips.

Itachi heaved a sigh. "Tsukuyomi would kill her. Only Sasuke can resist it as he's my flesh and blood. I can use the ordinary Genjutsu upon her, but," he paused, kneading his brow, "she must have a Root seal somewhere on her body. It would be mostly invisible to my Sharingan. Root will know if I break into her mind. I cannot risk starting an incident between Root and Uchiha."

"Invisible?" Suigetsu asked.

"Courtesy of Kushina. She sold quite a few Jutsus in goodwill to Danzō. They were ready-made for such occasions." He moved his head back—the cool wind from the gaps made the sweat drops on his brow quiver. "All that to ensure her husband's reign . . . she was such a fool."

"Are ya sure you don't even wanna try it—not even for Sasuke?" he asked and produced another scroll from his pocket.

Itachi cast him a curious look and took the scroll from his hand. He unrolled it, and the details made a prickly shiver go up his spine. "What is this?" he asked as if talking to himself.

"She's keepin' an eye on Naruto for her full reports on Sasuke," he explained, his face free of its typical antics, "she reported how his eyes calmed Naruto in the forest. How he uses 'em. How powerful they are in controllin' the beast. She seems ta be dangerous. I'd kill her now if I was ya. She's playin' somethin' big with Danzō."

Itachi just stared at him . . . Root was going after his brother?

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	29. The Next Best Thing

**Chapter Twenty-Nine:** The Next Best Thing

 **Canon Manga Info** : Suigetsu's extremely fast. He reached Sasuke before Killer Bee could strike a fatal blow and before Raikage brought his fist down, when he was standing on a balcony. Even War-Arc Sakura's considerably slower.

He was called a " **Prodigy in the art of murder** " by Kisame—a reference to his Kenjutsu skills.

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Thunder rattled the sky, the clouds so black and so angry, as the light flashed again and again, illuminating the dank cave he stood in. Heavy spatters of rain hit the rocks hard, and the drops shattered with a deliberate zeal. Light slithered in through the cracks, snake-like; its many tails forked out magnificently as it exploded into a million pieces right before his eyes.

He still could not see who stood in front him in the heavy clutch of an unforgiving darkness in the corner, mocking him of his inability to see through it all today. Dead and dry Sakura flowers swirled and whirled by his sandals, but he did not bother to steer his gaze to look down, his Sharingan, a disobedient tool today. The heavy shroud could have been rent through so easily by its prying gaze. But, alas . . . today, it was his own enemy.

Water dripped down from the tiny hole above and fell upon his shoulder and soaked through the cotton cloth of the shirt to touch his shivering skin. Thunder growled again like an inflamed beast, tearing up its prey. His damp face worked up into a knot of rage. He knew . . . he somehow knew, and yet, he did not know who it was. His mind drew a blank.

And then it was that same scene playing again right before his eyes: a kunai thrust at him stabbed through his heart, and he crashed down, a silver streak falling down again and again and again . . . and again without heart upon his breast. Red exploded out of his gaping wounds—a gush of blood rose up like wings of a butterfly, beating the air restlessly. It spattered on the muddy ground and cooled off right before his eyes.

His life ebbed away, drop by drop. How cruel that ritual of Death was? He could not fight the dark that came at him from all sides—wriggling, shapeless arms reaching out to cradle him as though he was a pitiful child that needed to be dandled for an innocent smile, a tiny sound of laughter. His limbs convulsed and his fingers contorted, pain in his every fibre; his body was a static, lifeless temple as a paroxysm of pain and fear seized him. He was dying . . . counting down the seconds that slipped away so quickly like small grains of sand from between his shaking fingers.

That life, his life, passed before his very eyes like a fast flash. He caught few moments, lost others, as a black mass of nameless fear descended upon his heart. It skipped beats, tripping weakly—fearful of the approaching faceless black. His veins throbbed with the last drops of his life. Yes, he was dying. He wanted to call out to his beloved brother. He would save him, shelter him in his arms from the cruelties of life; but his tongue, a heavy mass of flesh, would not move. "Nii-Sama," he wanted to whisper so desperately but it failed him, too.

How exquisite Death felt. Just a few trickles from its wondrous body, and he was floating, eager now to taste it with haste and leave it _all_ behind—leave everything behind. Why did it all even matter? Did his life matter? It was all a lie; his body, a bundle of lies and innocence; hope and fear; lust and treachery. A human body. A flawed body. He was but a frail Man, after all.

He blinked one last time, his tear-filled right eye catching the cold drop. All he saw was the kunai reaching for his eyes . . . and then everything was black. Torturous breaths returned to his body and imbued it with life. His heart pounded with such speed in his throat and temples. The room swayed slowly into view, and his murky gaze found two purplish eyes staring down at him with concern.

He coughed and leant forward, holding his head in his hands. The dream . . . it was haunting him now. "Sasuke," the voice sounded whisper-like against the ringing noise in his ears, "ya a'right?"

Sasuke moved his head to look up at Suigetsu's concerned face. Suigetsu placed his hand on his shivering shoulder and spoke, "Sasuke, ya okay? Yor bleedin'."

Sasuke blinked a few times and felt the itchy, red tear sluggishly make its way down his cheek. He wiped it away with the tip of his fingers and looked back at Suigetsu. "I'm fine," he sighed and drew a few cool breaths to calm his aching nerves. Izanagi was telling him something . . . he just did not know what.

A frown creased Sasuke's smooth forehead and he sighed. "You're done with the mission? If you are, then let's talk about Mist. I need to contact Mei again if I hope to catch Kisame," he said into his hands, stifling a yawn.

"Yah, 'bout that," Suigetsu said with an awkward grin, "yor brother has sent in another mission-order for ya." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a scroll. Sasuke groaned and flashed his red eyes on him. He was boiling to a rage now.

"Another one? Does he think I'm some common mule?" he growled, angry at his brother's persistence to keep up the unjust course of punishments. "You have at it, then. He can throw me out if it pleases him. I'm going home." He made to stand up when Suigetsu pushed him back down again.

"Slow down there, sonny boy," Suigetsu said in a high-pitched voice. "This is just a small trainin' mission. Don't go angerin' him now. Do ya wanna be barred from missions for months? Ignore it if ya feel like it, but don't say I didn't warn ya." He waved the scroll in Sasuke's face—who looked up at him and then took it from his hand grudgingly.

He ran his eyes down the details, and a small chuckle slipped past his lips. "Train Sakura?" he asked, looking surprised. "The team's training sessions are three weeks away. I'm not coddling her now. And why is Nii-Sama so interested in her all of a sudden?"

Suigetsu shrugged and made his way to a slightly ajar window by the table. A cool wind was floating in and the sky was still orange. Sun hung just below the horizon and black clouds piled up with haste up north. It would rain at night. "I don't know. He thinks Pinky-Chan's slow—too slow ta assist him in Anbu missions. He wants ya ta give her a few lessons ta improve her reflex speed and shit like that," he explained and looked over his shoulder at Sasuke's amused face.

"Pinky-Chan?" Sasuke rolled up the scroll. "Aren't you a poet?"

Suigetsu turned around with hands on his hips. "I used ta write items for a local news scroll—poetry section. They mostly centered on water, wetness, and more wetness. Alas, they never quite got past the wet stuff ta take a peek at this bundle of talent. Yor just jealous!" he returned and opened the window to let more cool air in.

Sasuke turned his red eyes to the door, his Sharingan breaking the barriers to look beyond everything before him. He saw Sakura's dull chakra move within her body as she mounted the stairs at the far end of the hall. She came to a halt before the door, timidly raised her knuckle, and knocked. "Come in," he said and did not turn his eyes to look at her.

Sakura closed the door behind her and stopped before him, her eyes upon his face, her heart racing. She squeezed them shut, and her face worked into a reflex of disgust. She hated herself for being so weak, so vulnerable, so silly before his charms. He looked so ill and frail today but still so beautiful that she loathed that face with passion—she loved that face with passion. It was a delightful clash of love and hate. She could not quite live with both sides mocking her passions and weaknesses.

Ever since she was a child, she had desired him so. He received education in his own village when he was but a wee boy. They first met when he joined the Chūninacademy. His face was so innocent then, free of the clever facades he wore upon it without a care before her now. As her body grew, she found herself within the cruel, unyielding grasp of lust. Such a profound, crushing sexual attraction that he was all that went through her mind—day and night. He had stolen her dreams and her peace and her heat. Yet, he was still so cruel to her when he was a thieving, conniving man who cared little for her loss.

She wanted him to touch her, come near her just once, let her smother those fires burning just beneath her skin, touching and licking at the soft flesh blooming between her thighs. It ached with lust. Containing them within her chinked, cracked, fleshy armour only rose that burning fever: a fever she satisfied through Naruto; but it was not enough. It was never enough. Naruto was not him. No one could _ever_ be him.

Sasuke said something to Suigetsu, but she did not hear it. Her gaze was bent upon his countenance, held there by a powerful emotion her face worked feverishly with—a terrible want. Tears rose in her green eyes as she pursued and chased him in the lust-drenched landscape of her young mind. A shiver of arousal ran through her body when his eyes met hers. His lips moved to say something, but she did not bother to hear it. Her eyes roamed about his cool face and that cold body. He would touch all, but her . . . and it was not fair!

"Sakura, I asked you something," he said in a surprisingly calm voice, drawing her attention, "were you included in the last week's teams' training sessions?" He pressed his back against the cushions on the sofa and closed his eyes.

"N-No," she mumbled and looked at his smooth neck and relaxed back; he appeared to be drifting into sleep. A few drops of sweat stood over the green vein flickering beneath his white skin. A look of sad longing rushed into her eyes, and she lowered her gaze. It was not as if she could ever make him hers. Her lower lip shuddered, and she bit back a sob. He made her so weak, and she hated him for it.

A heavy sigh came from his lips. He rubbed his eyes and raised them to look at her face that was turned away from him. "It's six p.m. and the training grounds would be empty," he said and breathed another deep sigh, "come along." He got to his feet and turned his tired eyes to Suigetsu. "You, too—come with me."

Suigetsu whirled around with a shocked expression on his pasty face. "Why me?" he asked with a shout.

"Because I said so," came the quick reply, and he walked out of the door with Sakura right behind him.

"Eh?" Suigetsu frowned with his jaw jutting out in irritation. He mumbled something incoherent and followed them.

The training grounds were empty, not a soul in sight. After last week's training sessions, all ninjas were given a week worth of respite. Crushed dry leaves lay strewn about the field, stirred ever so slightly by the breeze. A low hissing sound rose up into the air, as though a mating ball of a thousand snakes, as the wind picked up speed. The tree leaning above Sasuke's head shook, and a shower of leaves descended upon them. They got swept away by the wind before they touched the ground.

He leant back against the tree and shoved his hands into his pockets. His eyes were on Sakura's face and the pinkish hue in her cheeks. It was always the same with her.

"Spar with her," he commanded. Suigetsu took a battle stance and pulled out the large Executioner Blade from its sheath. Sakura looked fearfully at the sharp end of the massive sword. "Not with that sword, you fool. Pick up a wooden one. Do you want to cut her in half?"

Suigetsu chuckled. "A'right, a'right," he said in a low, amused voice and threw the sword to Sasuke. He caught the hilt and shoved the sword's tip into the ground. Suigetsu picked up a medium-sized wooden one from the rack and stood before her again. Then he licked his lips and charged. Rushing at her, he swung the sword. She did not even have time to think. It caught the side of her ribs and sent her flying across the ground. She crashed fifteen feet away from him, her limbs spread on the ground in an awkward manner.

"What are you doing?" Sasuke scolded her. "Intercept his movements and block or parry. Again."

She scrambled to her feet and knotted her fingers into fists, her body shaking, her face shivering with anger. Suigetsu pulled his lips back in a slow smile; spit glistened on his bared teeth as he passed his tongue over his lips again. He was mocking her.

Gathering a massive amount of chakra in her legs, she used Body-Flicker to instantly close the gap between them. She slammed her fist into the ground that cracked and caved in around them, but he was faster. He jumped back into the air and hit her again with the sword that sent her sprawling to the ground.

"Again," the harsh voice came from Sasuke and again she raised herself to her shaky feet, her breathing quick but steady. This time, she turned to her seal and poured out the chakra onto her body. It rushed through her veins and sizzled on the minor wounds that closed up on their own. She rushed in, faster this time; but, against an expert swordsman, it was impossible to make her fist connect with his body.

He twisted and moved around her with ease, chuckling as though he was playing with a child flailing her arms about in anger. His wooden sword hit her across the shoulder this time. Her body twisted around, skidded across the ground, and came to a halt on a patch of dry grass. She breathed heavily and slapped her hands on the ground and raised her upper body. This was impossible—he was too fast! What kind of monster had Sasuke recruited?

"Get up," Sasuke said with anger in his voice this time, "you're supposed to smooth out the chakra around your feet and in your body. It'll help you in moving your legs faster and you'll react faster as a result. Your reactions will improve. Your chakra control may be perfect for healing, but it requires a lot of work in Body-Flicker."

Sakura raised herself to her feet. Her body burnt with exertion, her eyes upon Sasuke as he made his way to them. He looked over to her, his red eyes hiding a meaningful emotion. He held his gaze for a few moments. Then his Sharingan suddenly disappeared. At last, he spoke, "try to hit me—both of you. I won't use any Ninjutsu other than Body-Flicker. I won't use any tool. I won't use my Sharingan. All you have to do is react to me, parry, or hit me. Begin."

As soon as his voice passed to silence, overcome by nothing but hatred for him, she swung her arm to catch the side of his shoulder. When she blinked, he was standing more than thirty feet away from her, and she had clumsily staggered forward, completely missing her mark. A look of pure shock passed over her face as she gazed at him. "Too slow," he whispered, a wispy, haughty smile pulling at his dry lips now.

"Sasuke, ya got a high fever. It's not like ya would be movin' like ya normally do. Don't work too much, brah. I don't wanna hurt ya. It won't be fair," he said in amusement and waved his sword at him in a mischievous manner. "Can I pick my own blade back up, pretty please? I ain't likin' this kitchen knife. Besides, I'd like ta try an' cut yor pretty legs in half."

Sasuke's eyes glinted mischievously. "You're welcome to try," he rasped and gestured him to come closer.

Both of them charged at him at the same time, with Suigetsu covering the distance much faster than her. He moved his sword around with lightning speed and grace. His sword was a blur in the slow-moving air, cutting the mist hanging around them into confetti, but it was all for naught. Sasuke was a master of Kenjutsu. It was impossible to even lay a finger on him at close range. The only one faster and more skilled than he in this art was his own brother. That was the reason why he was the Head of the Espionage Squad: he was quick, silent, and stealthy—a deadly opponent.

Sakura attacked him from behind. She sucked in her cheeks in a grimace when he flashed and jumped over her. She had no idea when he caught her arm and sent her flying into Suigetsu. They both crashed to the ground. Sakura quickly jumped to her feet, huffing and puffing. She moved her hand up and wiped the sweat from her face.

Suigetsu winced by her feet and gathered himself up to a sitting position. "Yah, I give up," he said in a dull voice and raised his hands up. "Go get 'im, Pinky-Chan," he mocked her and stood up.

Sakura ignored his taunt and rushed at him, all _those_ thoughts rushing through her mind. She wanted to inflict the amount of pain he had sliced into her spirit, etched into her skin through all those years. All he ever did was reject her, taunt her, and test her limits. It was not fair. It just was not fair.

She rushed to him and suddenly found herself facing a vast expanse of trees just beyond the boundary of the grounds . . . with no one in sight: her hands were pinned behind her back. The hot touch of his fingers on her shivering skin made her weak again. He leant in and whispered, "I caught you." His lips touched the shell of her ear and such a hot spark rushed through her that her breaths quickened without an ounce of shame. She bit her lower lip, drawing a bit of blood. She fought back a moan of anguish. He was teasing her, and she wanted to make him suffer for it.

He released her suddenly, and she crashed forward to the ground, her legs limp from just a mere touch of his lips. They shook without much of any discipline against her will. Her pink hairs were dirty and sweaty now. They had fallen over her eyes that glared at him with a newfound ferociousness. He looked calm, his face blank.

"Work on your chakra. Smooth it out. Train with Suigetsu if you have to. Nii-Sama just loves to take both of you along, so you'll have many chances to do this," he said with an air of anger about him. His jaw twisted from side to side, but he looked away. "Leave this training session's report in my office. I'll hand it over to Nii-Sama that his _obedient_ brother fulfilled another one of his commands."

And then he walked away, leaving her in a state of anguish on the ground.

The night was as cold to her as Sasuke. A chill rushed through her warm body as she dragged her feet to the office. Night had the sky in its clutches, and the clouds made a nice pile overhead. Thunder roared and a light rain came down on her head. She ran for cover and made it to the office before it intensified.

Climbing the stairs, she reached up and touched her ear: it was still red-hot beneath her rain-soaked fingers. An expression of disgust contorted her face, and she slapped her hand on the wall. Her fingers shook, and she bent her head to hide her tears. How could he tease her like that when she was trying so hard to detach herself from him? How could he? How dare he?

She wanted him to feel her pain and distress—somehow. Her feet moved mechanically on the steps, her mind caught in the cobweb of illusions. Was he changing for her? A burdened sigh left her lips. The thought was foolish. She let out a small laugh of disdain. How foolish was she to hope that he would come around?

When she came into the office, she noticed it was dimly lit. A single lantern was still burning on the table; its dull light struggled to win over the shadows. She looked around and found Sasuke sitting on the sofa. He was sleeping. His neck was arched back on the sofa and a scroll lay open in his lap. He had fallen asleep while reading something.

Sakura put the scroll on the table and bent down to look at the medicine: it was a common sleeping draught with pain-killer properties. The Medic team made these for a restful night of sleep after a long and tiring mission. She raised her eyes to look at his face hidden behind the hazy strip of a shadow.

He looked calm, serene. His handsome face did not have that cruel look he vigorously used to mock her. He looked . . . so innocent, almost child-like, as though he had just experienced the wondrous first year of adolescence, without the typical display of his anger and cunning. She gulped down the lump in her throat and climbed onto the sofa. Supporting herself on her knees, with one hand on the sofa, she strained her neck to look into his pale face again.

Her heart thundered at a deliberate pace, and before she could stop herself, she bent down and kissed his lips. He did not stir for quite a few moments as she relished the closeness of their bodies—the heat from his lips and the mad rise in lust _just_ from tasting him. Backing away, she looked down and his eyes fluttered open.

"Get away from me," he said groggily and weakly pushed her back with his shaking hand. She breathed heavily, her eyes misted over with tears. His fever had not abated and that training had taken the last of his strength. He was so weak that she pushed his hand aside and clamped her mouth over his again.

He protested feebly and jerked his head away, only to have her grab it again to guide his lips to hers. Her fingers were wrapped around his throat, which throbbed with such heat under her fingers, holding him forcefully in place as the shameless fever rose in her. She pulled back to breathe in a lungful of cool air that stung inside the depths of her body, and looked at him through the thick shroud of lust.

"Stop it," he hissed between his teeth like an angry, feral cat. His eyes blazed under the windblown hair. He made to stand when she went at him again, her mouth dropping hungry, heated kisses upon his lips, face, and neck. When she found his pulse beating in the hollow of his throat—his heart just jumping there like something impatient beneath his skin—she sucked at it hard, and his breath quickened ever so slightly against his will.

She went back to his protesting mouth again and nibbled on his lower lip, his throat growing hotter under her firm fingers. She grabbed his hand and brought it to the needy core between her clenching thighs. His fingers brushed against it, and she bit down on his lower lip hard, drawing blood: the touch sent a stabbing spark through her body, tearing it apart. He mustered all the pieces of strength that remained in his body and threw her back. The haze of lust lifted from her eyes and new tears stung on her face. She raised that hot and battered gaze to him as he stood away from her. His harsh red eyes stared at her as that warm blood moved slowly down his red lips.

"What's wrong with you?" he growled and rubbed his finger harshly against his lower lip. A deep cut from her bite adorned it right in the middle. It was bleeding badly.

"Why—" she cried out, her face warping in anger and defeat, "—why don't you love me?" She scrambled up to a sitting positing, panting.

"Why?" he repeated in a harsh, grating voice. "I don't have any answer for you. Get out of my office—now!" He stretched his hand and pointed at the door.

She stared at him wide-eyed with shock on her fair face. "I need to know. Why don't you love me, Sasuke? I'll do anything for you. If I don't have you in my life, then I have—I have nothing! I don't love anyone more than you," she spoke, her voice heavy under the weight of anger, lust, and anguish: an exquisite, violate mixture that was making it all spread inside her like a devastating shockwave from an explosion.

"You make me sick," he said and his voice was a cold hiss as he wiped at his bleeding lip again. "You have no shame. You're telling me that even your parents are beneath me? Shame on you, Sakura. Shame on you." He looked at her with not an ounce of sympathy on his cold face.

She stared back, her face convulsing this time. "Yes, I love you more than—" she stopped, and a dull whimper seeped from between the gritted teeth, "—m-more than my parents. More than anything! I've always loved you more than everyone, Sasuke. Don't reject me. Don't deny me. Why do you keep breaking my heart? Tell me? Why do you k-keep breaking me over and over again?" And then she wept hoarsely, hiding her face behind her hands.

His face worked with emotion, and he felt anger bubble hotly in his throat. His eyes flashed rage when she stood up and fell forward to grab his arms. "Sasuke, don't," she pleaded and tightened her fingers around his. They shook in the grasp of pitiful emotions he found to be weak. "Don't do this to me—you don't know how much I want you." She reached up to touch his face, but he pushed her hand away harshly.

He bent his head down and whispered and his breath hit her damp forehead, "a treacherous woman who doesn't even care for her own flesh and blood is not worthy of anyone." He removed his fingers from her grasp and watched a wave of shock flow over her face. "Out," he repeated in anger.

Her shaky feet moved on their own and carried her out of the office. When she stepped outside, a roar of thunder greeted her battered senses. A throttled moan slipped past her lips, but it got lost under the sounds of wind and rain that whipped around her. She stood in the rain, feeling it lash her face raw. He did not love her—he did not love her at all. What a fool she had been. And she wept silently, shaking all over.

"Soaking yourself in the cold rain would only make you ill," a voice came from behind her, and she turned around to find Itachi standing under the shed a few feet away from her. "I suggest you get some rest as we have a mission in a couple of hours." In the cold rain, his face suggested nothing. He started walking and disappeared behind the buildings to the right.

He reminded her so of Sasuke: the next best thing . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : If you haven't guessed, then I've modified two dialogues to make this encounter "pseudo-canon": one is between Sasuke and Sakura at the end of part one (where she did state that she loved him more than everyone) when he was about to leave the village; and the other one is from just before he left to fight with Naruto one last time; and yes, in the **Viz** (official) translation, he really does say, " _ **you really do make me sick.**_ "

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	30. Prey in a Trap

**Chapter Thirty** : Prey in a Trap

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Nose to the grindstone: it was something he kept reminding himself. Hard work was not easy. Unraveling old mysterious was even harder. Trying to open many tight knots that held the secrets of his childhood was similar to fumbling one's hand in the clearest of waters, to try and locate that one silver coin that got lost amidst many silver stones. It was a hopeless task; his chances were slim. He might as well just give up.

But he was not the type. He would see it through to the bitter end. He would vanquish foes and take his revenge, and he would keep his allies close as long as his games got him closer to that one secret that ended his childhood . . . a restless noise of thunder broke his thoughts as he sat on the matted floor crossed-legged—a low table was set before him. He moved his eyes to the closed window as it creaked a little to keep the wind out.

"Sasuke," Karin cooed in his ear, "come to bed with me, won't you?" She played with his hair and pressed her breasts against his back. He did not answer. His fingers trembled around the finely crafted brush shaking in his hand, his body still burdened by illness and fatigue. Two ink drops plopped on the scroll that lay open on the table, and he frowned. He bent over the table to look at the black stain spreading in a perfect circle. It could be overlooked.

He moved the brush above the ink-bottle and shook it a little to rid it of extra ink. Presently, he was writing the final report of his last mission. He sat in his personal office in the manor. Four gruelling, torturous days had drained him dry. The lantern sitting on the table splashed a weak light on the fine scroll, throwing a misshapen shadow of a burnt moth across its top half. He stretched his hand and tapped the lantern with his finger a few times. The scorched moth stuck to the inside fell down. He could see a lot better now.

Bringing his eyes back down, he saw that the wet letters were already drying out: the ink had soaked through the fine pores. Sasuke pressed the brush against the surface and created another fine letter.

"Your chakra smells funny," Karin whispered and kissed his neck. She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Should I taste you?" She did not wait for an answer, and pushing his collar aside, she bit down playfully into his shoulder.

A small expression of discomfort flickered across his face, but he continued the task. She licked at the quivering drop of blood, and beads of sweat sitting on the tiny pores in his skin, that oozed out of the wound. She passed her tongue over her lips and looked at the ceiling. Her face had a dreamy expression now. "Poison?" she said, rather thoughtfully. "Not really a potent one. A weak—very weak one to build immunity, I think."

Sasuke breathed in deeply till he could take no more air in and pushed the brush into the bottle again. He shook it above the bottle after pulling it out and resumed the task. He was so angry with his brother, and silence was the best medicine—for now. Karin emitted a short girly laugh against his ear. "Your brother is probably slipping it into your tea. He's so lovely," she said in a musical voice and rested her chin on his shoulder.

No reply came from him as he continued to write. Dry sounds of smooth brush strokes magnified in silence after the persistent blasts of thunder. An angry expression was upon his face. He clenched his jaw and moved the brush faster as he wrote with trembling hands; the letters looked a little untidy, a little shaky on the scroll.

Karin slipped her hand under his Kimono's collar and circled her finger around his nipple playfully. "Don't be angry with me, Sasuke. I promised you that my brothers will find the hideout. Don't you trust me?" she asked in a needy voice and nuzzled his neck. "Don't you—" she stopped and flicked her head up, looking fearful.

Not a second passed and Itachi slid open the door. A sudden puff of cool air rushed in that disturbed the flame glowing in the lantern. His harsh red eyes fell upon her and she squirmed. "Leave," he spoke in a calm voice, "now."

Karin scrambled to her feet and flew out of the room, her long ponytail whipping behind her. She disappeared into the guest-room down the corridor. Itachi gave the door a slight push to the right and it slid closed. He brought his eyes to his brother and they softened. He kept looking at him for a few moments, but Sasuke gave no indication that he had heard his brother come into the office.

Itachi took in a burdened breath and spoke, "the Mizukage has been persistent with her requests. She wants you and no other to oversee the final Chūnin trials. I have sent in several recommendations, but her answers remain the same. Now, I am beginning to wonder why." He looked around the office. It was neat like his with just a few touches of unruliness, of passions that set Sasuke apart from himself. A thick shadow stood behind Sasuke as though waiting to attack and injure him, an ominous enemy, and the thought made Itachi uneasy.

Sasuke did not reply. He pushed the brush rather angrily into the ink bottle again and started writing the final lines on the scroll. Itachi waited for him to speak. At last, he sighed a deep sigh. "Why is she asking for you? She seems to want no other. I want to know why." he asked in a gentle voice. His eyes narrowed on the shadow that flickered with the flame guttering upon the wick as though alive behind his brother's back—he was seeing things.

His words were only met with more silence. "Sasuke, I am speaking to you," he spoke in a firm commanding voice this time, his brow frowning. "Are you so angry with me that you have decided to cast aside all etiquettes?"

The sharpness of his voice compelled Sasuke to raise his head to look back at his brother. Itachi's stern eyes lost their intensity just for a split second at the sight of his gaunt face: he looked so ill, frail, and weak. He had not seen him for four days. Looking at him now . . . it was making his heart trip with guilt. He had been too harsh on him.

"I don't know. Maybe, you should ask her," Sasuke replied harshly with a lopsided smile on his face.

He brushed aside the insulting tone and spoke by injecting softness into his voice this time: "were you intimate with her? Tell me it is not so." His gentle eyes roamed on his face that displayed the formation of a rage-filled expression.

"I was." He threw the brush aside on the table and stood up and bored his angry eyes deep into Itachi's. "Why, are you going to punish me again, Nii-Sama?" Taking two steps, he stood close to him. He moved his head up with a look of challenge in his eyes. Itachi was shocked.

"Sasuke," he breathed out, meeting his hateful expression with a changing incredulous countenance, "what is the matter with you? Why do you never listen to me? Why did you—for Sage's sake—" he stopped and gritted his teeth, his face hidden behind his hand. A wall of shadow stood before him now like an eerie partition.

He pulled his hand away to look at Sasuke whose expression and rage had yet to melt. "Stop being such a disobedient child," he began in a firmer voice, "what should I do to make you listen—to make you understand? Tell me, for I do not know how to handle your growing stubbornness, your inability to heed my words, and your complete lack of judgment. Tell me, what should I do?" He looked down—that anger seemed to have just washed away from his young face. The burdens he carried were too much, too weighty for his young shoulders, and his beloved brother was only making things worse.

"Then let me go," Sasuke retorted heavily, his face shaking with the intensity of emotion, "I want to leave—get away from here." He panted, his body shivering with pain.

A shocked expression replaced concern on Itachi's face. "Stop," he said in a whisper and looked at his brother with a tasty glint of fear in his eyes, "stop and never speak of this again. You understand me? I _never_ want to hear those words from your lips again. You have no idea of the trouble and mess you have made for me . . . and for yourself. You want to make matters worse by talking about becoming a Rouge-Nin on a silly whim?" He stepped a little closer to Sasuke, staring down at him with hard eyes.

Sasuke stared back at him defiantly, and red in his eyes resonated with his brother's with such musical precision. He may have fought against it at times, stubbornly denied it even, but they were still brothers—bound by the unshakable, sturdy cords of flesh, blood, and love that had forged and melded together their destinies since birth into an unbreakable chain. Try as they might, they would never be able to break free—forever bound, forever trapped in the lovely, unjust even, bond of blood and burdens.

"You have no idea, you disobedient, hateful child," Itachi scolded him, his face showing marks of anger, something Sasuke had not seen in a long time; and as if his burning eyes hurt him, he lowered his own, standing defeated before his older brother's heavy and searing gaze. His battered body longed for nothing but peace, rest. He had no desire to argue with him any longer. He was forever the younger brother, trapped beneath his older brother's tall shadow.

After a few moments of silence, he felt Itachi's hand tenderly brush the side of his cheek. Sasuke's skin felt damp and hot beneath Itachi's gentle fingers. Itachi leant his head down slightly, grabbed his face between his hands, and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Go to your room. I will speak to you tomorrow," he spoke in a low voice.

Sasuke did not raise his eyes to look back at him. He opened the door and left the office in silence. When he reached his room, his futon looked so inviting. He flung himself down upon it and stretched his hand to grab the sleeping draught from the table. He emptied it at a draught and drifted off to a deep sleep within a few seconds.

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It was a dull morning marred by grey and sombre colours stretched loose across the sky. A cold breeze was blowing in from the north. Soon, autumn would have it all in its grasp: the killing season had begun. It was a gentle reaper that killed all flowers and leaves and left a few behind. They bloomed under the false, pallid sun in blue colours. Only purple lilies would survive its reaping, staying young through the harsh winter . . .

It was a strange and rare flower that only opened its mouth wide before the slivers of moonlight. It shied away from the harsh light of the sun. " _Petal shedder_ " is what people called it. It shed its pretty limbs and drooped in summer and spring and burrowed under the soft ground the way animals did; then it poked out as new fresh buds once autumn came to reap again. It saw the ritual of death and survived to tell the tale—always.

His eyes wandered around the office he found to be a bit too untidy for the ruler of the village, but it was hardly his concern. A bottle of sake stood next to a half-full cup. Tsunade moved her hand absentmindedly to grab hold of it, her eyes upon the scroll on the table. She made quite the show of draining it in one gulp and pouring out another one. He could never quite understand her eccentricities.

She coughed and grabbed the cup again and lifted her eyes to meet his. "Is there any reason for you to take another one of your brother's missions, Itachi?" she asked and took a short and quick sip from the cup, her cheeks ruddy with mild intoxication.

Itachi steered his gaze to the window. "He is ill," he said coolly.

She placed the cup on the table with a loud clink and knotted her fingers together on the table. "He was enthusiastic enough to get back on duty today," she said with a small smile. "Though I would agree with you that he looks weak, I am afraid you cannot have his mission."

Itachi returned his gaze to her, his eyes narrowed almost dangerously. "Why?" he asked in a voice that sounded firm and direct.

"Because I want you here. Emissaries from Cloud will come a day after tomorrow, and I have to send Sakura to treat one of their men. He was poisoned by someone on his way here. It is lethal—he could die by morning. I want you to make sure she reaches there in one piece. You were already going to take her on a small training mission. It is a small matter of a team's reformation. Hardly an impossible task," she explained and started rolling up the scroll on the table.

A ghostly, bewitching smile pulled at the corner of his lips, cracking his displeased expression ever so slightly. "An Anbu Captain reduced to a guard-duty for a mere Chūnin? Your student is . . . truly precious," he said with a frosty look in his eyes that glowed with the fierceness of Sharingan.

She flashed her brown eyes on him, her gaze level with his, though they hid a certain fear beyond the fragile veil of authority that mechanically hovered in and out of her eyes. It was not enough to fool him—she was not experienced enough to fool him.

"I am not insulting you, Itachi, nor am I trying to give special treatment to Sakura. But the mission is too important. I can trust no one these days. You know how things are with Root and Danzō. The old geezer would never want a good alliance with Cloud. If this emissary is healed, you can imagine how it will work for us," she said with a look of calm on her face.

He smiled, finding so much irony in her words, but he chose not to spill _that_ secret now. "Why not send in extra men? I can appoint a few. They can handle the task just fine. I do not see why a Captain should indulge a struggling Chūnin any longer. It would only give her more ego when she already believes you to be under her thumb," he said, eyes still glowing dangerously under the black hair.

"I understand she should not have gone to you for the Jōnin trials. That was unbecoming of her. Your displeasure is not misplaced," Tsunade sighed and leant back into the comfy chair and eyed him with a peculiar look on her face. "But is there any reason why you are so adamant to busy your brother with another mission, when you can just send him home to rest?" she asked, holding her gaze.

He remained silent for a fleeting moment with a blank look in his eyes. "It is a personal matter that does not concern the military," he answered in a flat, uncompromising tone.

"It isn't personal any longer when you're refusing me your cooperation," she said quickly and curled her fingers around the sake cup—half her mind was still bent on that sake.

"Then I would like to take my brother along. I do not desire to leave him alone in the village to his own devices for now," he said in a voice with a strong undercurrent of finality.

Tsunade let out a soft laugh, eyeing him from behind the cup raised high to her painted lips that curled in a smile. "So disobedient, isn't he? Even _you_ can't seem to control him. Love is such a silly thing," she remarked and took a long, thoughtful whiff of the strong sake. Itachi remained silent; his face gave no hint of emotion, though his eyes made it seem as though he was angered by her thoughtless remark.

"You can't take him with you. He's ill and would only prove to be a hindrance," she stopped to pour out another cup, "your attention will be divided and I don't want that. We both know you would worry more about Sasuke than the mission."

"My brother is impossibly more capable than your student—even in his present state. He will do well," he assured her in a heavy voice laced with a faint firmness of his arrogance.

The rough branches of trees scraped across the window pane on the outside with an eerie sound, but both of them did not turn their eyes to look at them. "I'm not even worried about Sasuke—I'm worried about you. It's your full attention I want. With Sasuke around," she paused to turn the cup in her delicate hand as if it demanded her attention again, "your worry will get the best of you. If danger presented itself, you will protect Sasuke first, and I don't want that. And it's only natural. He's your brother and he's very dear to you. I would've done the same for Nawaki if he was alive . . . " A look of grief came to her face suddenly, but she looked away to preserve her pride.

Itachi emitted a deep breath. "Then what would you have me do?" he asked and got to his feet. It was no use arguing with her any longer. He would have to send Sasuke to Mei. There was no other way.

The branches outside smacked themselves repeatedly against the window pane. She could see a few drops of rain running down the clean window-glass, whitened by the evening mist from outside. They cut their own path with determination. Letting her thoughts guide her mind for a second longer, she cut them short and brought her attention back to the young Anbu Captain.

"I'm giving you permission to make his team for him as you see fit. You can even make the guidelines for his three-day stay there. Make them as strict as possible. I won't stop you. If you finish the mission early, you can even go and join him. That is as much leeway I can give you. But," she broke off and raised a firm finger in the air, "I want your undivided attention on this, Itachi. Don't disappoint me."

Itachi looked at her for a second or two, and then he left the office in silence. He looked displeased, angry even. The red had not left the whites in his clever eyes. Tsunade poured out the last few drops of sake and raised the cup to look at the yellowish liquid. She put the cup down and felt pain in her heart. "Love is such a silly thing . . . " she whispered and felt tears run down her cheeks.

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By the time Itachi reached the small Rice Village—located just on the outskirts of Rain's flimsy border—with his team, it was already evening. A little drizzle was falling down on the ground outside. Endless dots covered the dried-up rice paddy. A vast ground at the edge of the village had been raked and several furrows were made to plant seeds for the next season. He saw a few crows cawing on the bare tree branches just beyond the room: they were picking at the insects burrowing beneath the soft ground.

An old man's low moans filled the space around them. He turned his gaze to look at the man's face contorted with excruciating pain. A mop of blond hair of one of the Jōnin guards shone under the light from the dirtiest lantern he had ever laid his eyes on. When he moved his gaze to investigate the rest of the room, he wished he had not: the sides of the door had fungus growing unhindered out of its cracks; a thick pile of dust caked the floor; and the curtains were so old, so dirty that they barely moved despite the strength of the breeze. A look of disgust flickered across his face—he would never have come here had it not been for the delicate situation.

Sakura was bent over the man as she drew the poison out of his heart, with a flowing layer of chakra focused around her right hand. She deposited the dirty-looking liquid into a large cup that was set on a lopsided table. She pressed her hand over the many great folds in his wrinkly skin and pulled out thick tendrils of poison from his body. He would scream over and over again whenever the poison was forcefully dragged from his body. Another guard with a messy mop of grey hair held his thrashing body down.

The young man with blond hair made his way to him; he stopped by the door and spoke with a nervous look on his face: "I'm Shī. I came with—"

"I know who you are," Itachi cut him off coldly. "Who poisoned him?"

Shī blinked once and stood straight. He appeared to be a man of meagre emotions. "We don't know," he said, and the nervousness on his face melted into another mild expression. "They didn't have any headbands on them. They were probably hired by someone."

"You killed all of them?" Itachi asked in mild surprised. "It never occurred to you to keep one alive for interrogation?"

A blush of embarrassment burnt on the younger man's cheeks. He scratched his head and looked up at Itachi again. "We wanted to, but Kuma-Sama wanted them all dead. We had to obey his orders," he mumbled as if displeased by the foolishness of his superior.

"A lesson learnt," he said with concealed contempt in that smooth voice as he moved his gaze to the man still wriggling under Darui's strong arms. "How much of it is left?" he asked, gazing at Sakura's back.

She looked over her shoulder, her face sweaty from work. "I'm done, Itachi-Sama," she replied and wiped her forehead on her arm. "The poison's out and I've just administered the antidote. It was a regular poison found in the wings of a bird in Cloud Village." She stood up from her perch and removed the gloves from her hands.

Twisting around, she stood still to look back at him with an expression as if she was seeing him fully for the first time. Her eyes surveyed his white face. He had such a youthful appearance for someone just a year shy of thirty. He looked only a year, maybe two, older than Sasuke: a man eight years his junior. He even shared the fine contours of his face. The small mistakes made by Nature were enough to just barely tell them apart.

Her gaze moved down his eyes, and down and down it went, drinking in the smooth curve of his white throat and lips reddened by the heat from the flames, which crackled just by his feet in a hearth. They continued to wither away as the cold wind touched their dancing tips. Her gaze lingered on the lithe body that did not look as though it had ever experienced the hard life of a shinobi. He was a bit taller than Sasuke, too.

She stole a fleeting gaze at his narrow waist and the young loins and her face burnt. It was so girlish the way she was behaving. Her heart danced and tripped with silly excitement. He would prove to be a fine replacement for Sasuke. He would make her forget Sasuke's sharp tongue—but how to make him hers? Sakura's questioning eyes stared at him from under the flop of pink hair. They provided that apt hiding spot for her prying eyes.

He was talking to Shī, and she obediently stood next to the whining emissary, waiting for his next order. That exquisite, slow-burning feel of his chakra that day . . . she wanted him to melt into her, burn her skin with its heat. It was as delicious as the feathery touch of Sasuke's lips against the shell of her ear—lips that left a pain of longing in her body. The fever, it had risen in her skin with such urgency that she wanted to mollify it, expunge it from her body; but Naruto was not around to satisfy it today.

Sakura heaved a sigh and looked back at his intense eyes that made her shiver—there was just something strange about him. She was falling too soon on him. Too soon. But the desire Sasuke had unwittingly roused in her yesterday could only be soothed by _this_ medicine. It was foolish, she knew, but her excited flesh was not in a mood to heed her protests. She wished that she could tear that desire out of it, throw it away, and never look back. How hard it was to fight against this demon; only Sasuke had made her realize that.

Clenching her teeth together, she breathed heavily. She would make him to pay. He would hurt her no more. And yet, a part of her still fought a terrible battle against this new resolve. She felt it getting weaker against her hatred. He did not love her. He did not love her at all. The words echoed in the deep chambers of her mind, rose and fell in rhythm with the dance of flames that licked at her body and gave it more pain, more lust. She gulped down the sounds in her throat that tried to form another kind of reason: _Itachi is . . . a man. He must have desires? He must! All men do. They can't stay away from women for long, can they?_

The question bothered her. There were rumours that he satisfied himself with the finest of harlots, but they were only rumours. No one really knew him to say for sure. What was his seduction like? Sakura tilted her head to the left and looked at his face intently. Was it all passion and fiery lust like Sasuke exuded? Was he quiet, dark, and secretive? She did not know, but a part of her agreed with her heart that she wanted to see it for herself.

"Go and get some rest," his voice shattered her thoughts. "We will leave first thing in the morning." She stared at him absentmindedly, gave a slow nod, and left . . .

A few crows still cawed, as though singing of omens, outside her window at this time of the hour. The room they gave her was a lot tidy than the hall. The ceiling was cracked, and water dripped from one of the pipes in the corner. It had made quite the puddle there. She had not bothered to mop it up. It was not her job.

Sakura sat on the creaky bed in knee-length kimono robes. Her nipples were tight from the cold in the room. She moved her hand thoughtlessly on the old sheets spread underneath her . . . _so, tomorrow_? the words made her frown. Just one night and they would part? The blissful thoughts had spun something much more. How cruel!

Someone knocked, and she hastily made her way to the door. When she opened it, she quickly hugged herself to hide the visible roundness of her small breasts. Itachi did not lower his gaze, nor did he seem stirred by her. "Change of plans. We will leave before dawn. Write your report on this scroll and hand it to me before we leave," he said firmly and held out the scroll.

There it was again, the brush of his finger and the mad rise in lust from that sudden rush of strong chakra. Her young loins were wet with longing. Moments stretched painfully long for her, bearing her young heart and mind down. She did not even know what she was doing as her shaking hands dropped the scroll, shot forward to firmly grasp at his right arm, and pulled him inside.

When she looked up to find some familiar touch of desire on his face, it disappointed her. His face . . . it suggested nothing, and then a flood of shame washed down her whole body. "I'm sorry, Itachi-Sama. P-Please, forgive me," she whimpered, letting go of his arm, her hands convulsing. What had she done? What was she thinking? She admonished herself and cursed her own desperation and lust to claim him for he was the next best thing. The shame was too much to bear.

The tears were warm on her cheeks. He did not move for a fleeting moment; then he pushed the door back with his sandal, and it closed with a click. Sakura looked up, surprised. His eyes were so red, so magnificent as he walked forward with slow steps. Consumed by an odd mixture of fear and unfamiliar passion, her shaky, uncertain feet propelled her back. Moving his hand forward, he pushed her back roughly with just the tip of his right hand's fingers. The old bed gave a swoop and a loud creak when she fell down upon it; she looked somewhere between lustful and fearful.

Itachi knelt between her parted legs, his face enveloped by a layer of such cool indifference. Her arms flew forward to grasp his hands, but he grabbed both of them in his and smacked them down on the bed as though she was being disobedient. A moist flood graced her folds, and he entered her without warning, without care. She winched, his pace slow, deliberate, so exquisitely torturous. It made her grunt with uneasiness.

Lust exploded into waves of pleasures as he kept it up in the same methodic manner. Her fair hands contorted and wriggled in his grasp, but he did not let go. Her sweaty legs shook and dangled from the edge of the bed. She had no fight in her to pull them up and wrap them around his narrow waist. Her moist inner thighs spasmed madly, violently, so deliciously. Ah, such mad lust that coursed through her veins as she strained her misty eyes to look upon that haunting, beautiful visage of mimicry still mocking her, and she half-whispered the name she so desperately wanted to say: "S-Sasuke . . . "

He looked so like him: the next best thing. She kept reasoning with herself. It was so foolish, but it did not matter. It was never going to matter as _this_ was what cooled that beautiful fever aching in her gut and limbs, gnawing its way out of her skin. Yes, only this would satisfy her.

She did not know if he heard it. Her half-lidded, desire-beaten eyes, tainted by human lust, looked at him from behind the partial curtains of pink hair. His face still suggested nothing. His eyes red, surveyed her as if weighing her worth. He looked at her with mild interest and a slight tilt of his head as her robes came loose and those small breasts bounced out. The pink nipples peaked painfully under his cold gaze.

She did not know how long he went on. Her insides burnt with pleasure that gathered in waves deep inside her gut. And her body suddenly erupted in a single crushing wave that battered her, extinguishing that high fever with such finesse that she finally felt . . . satisfied. Her breaths came out quick, and when the haze cleared from her eyes, she found herself to be alone. He had already left . . .

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	31. Just a Little Game

**Chapter Thirty-One** : Just a Little Game

 **Canon-Manga Info** : Read this chapter with a clean slate. Romantic Itachi doesn't exist in **Canon-Manga** : he's a product of fan-fictions' logic and self-insert tropes this site is infamous for. The novels and fillers are **Non-Canon** —the novels were never included in the official timeline released with **Boruto: The Movie** nor did Kishimoto ever state that they were canon, unlike the current **Boruto Manga**. So whatever material you've read concerning Itachi on this site, kindly, leave it behind.

Keep that in mind that Itachi had some nameless **lovers** (yes, according to the **VIZ** , official translation, he had more than one lover) during the events of the coup and massacre, and he killed them, too. Furthermore, he never thought about any one of them or even mentioned one in passing. He showed no remorse for what he did (to his own parents) other than admit that he failed Sasuke. It's clear that he simply went near his lover(s) to ease his worries as Obito mentioned that being a double-agent had turned his life upside down, and he was in a constant state of distress.

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"We have another mission?" Itachi asked and fell into step beside Shisui.

Shisui smiled. Sun was hot on their young skins and the shade cool. Boughs of lush trees shook ever so slightly in the gentle breeze. Autumn was upon them, but the white-hot light of the sun burnt through their jackets and made them sweat profusely.

"We do," he said and wiped at his forehead. "It's just a small training mission with a few young ones from the Genin Academy."

Itachi looked ahead, walking under the shades of the trees. Few unlit lanterns swung from their boughs. Next to the rough path, a stream spilt from between the gaps in the rocks. It came from up in the mountains and bent sharply towards the river.

"How long will it take?" he asked, his voice smooth and so young.

Shisui let out a small laugh and turned his head to look at him. Itachi was a bit shorter than he. "Sasuke's asking you to spend time with him again? He really doesn't like sharing you, does he?" he asked, his eyes squinting under the blazing sun.

"I promised him that I'll be back before evening," he replied, shading his eyes. "If I don't make it back, he . . . he will just be unhappy." He created a smile on his boyish face.

"I guess, we'll just have to—" He could not quite say more as his sandal sank into the soft sand and a thin, sharp needle went straight through the soft underside of his foot.

"Shisui-San, are you all right?" Itachi asked in a tense voice and grabbed hold of Shisui's arm to keep him from falling.

Shisui winced and sank down to the ground; then he pulled his foot out of the hole with great difficulty. His sandal was broken. The needle was still jabbed in his foot. "Damn, it went straight through my foot. What is this?" he grunted, pulled out the needle, and looked at the small hole in the path. "It looks like a trap . . . or something."

Itachi bent his head down and looked into the hole: it was small and had a trap mechanism to shoot a needle upwards. A small, now broken, wooden apparatus, a thread, and a tiny spring lay about at the bottom. "Probably made for a small animal," Itachi said, tilting his head to look back at Shisui.

Shisui squeezed his right eye shut and grabbed his foot. Twisting his back a little, he bent forward and turned his foot into his eyes' focus. "It's just a small hole. It isn't even bleeding badly. Don't think I'll be able to walk for a few days—it had a bit of chakra around it to damage the tissues," he said and picked up the needle and turned it around.

Itachi took the needle from his hand. It had a trace of a familiar chakra on its tip that was smeared red with fresh blood. He thrust it into his pocket and stood up. "Let me help you up," he said and stretched out a hand.

Shisui took it and got to his feet. He favoured his left leg and kept the injured right foot above the ground. "I think I'll go to the infirmary and give the mission to someone else," he said and clamped his hand on Itachi's shoulder to steady himself.

"But you're in no condition to walk." Itachi looked around and found Serizawa and Kai walking towards them. "You two, help Shisui-San. He's injured."

Both of them broke into a jog and stopped close to them. "What happened?" Serizawa asked and circled his arm around Shisui's waist.

"Nothing, just an animal trap. Someone had set it up in the path," Itachi explained and turned his head to the hole in the ground. "They probably forgot about it, I suppose."

Kai pulled the broken apparatus out of the hole and twisted his head to look up at Itachi. "This could've really hurt a small child. So careless," he whispered and shoved his hand into the hole again to pull out the spring and the broken thread.

Itachi brought his eyes upon Serizawa. "Take him to the infirmary. There was chakra on the needle, too. It's mostly gone now but it could damage his foot," he said, looking at him as he nodded and walked away with Shisui.

"I'm taking this to the infirmary," Kai said and walked after them.

Itachi watched them till they turned a corner and disappeared behind a large house. A cool wind hit his sweaty skin, and he raised his eyes to look at the dark clouds coming into the large clear space overhead. It would rain soon. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the needle again. Residual chakra still glowed on the tip, shimmering in the pallid light of the sun: it was so like his own. His Sharingan told him all.

He half-turned and saw a child's face slip back quickly behind the shadows of the leaves about fifty feet away. He would recognise those rosy plump cheeks and big eyes anywhere. He flashed to the branches and grabbed the unsuspecting child from behind. The child let out a tiny squeak of surprise and jumped up in his arms.

"I caught you, Sasuke," Itachi whispered in his ear, sat down, and turned Sasuke around.

Sasuke rubbed at his right eye with that small hand, his face splitting into a broad smile. "Nii-San, you're staying?" he asked in a happy voice. His face lit up in excitement.

Itachi brushed the sweaty hair away from Sasuke's forehead and smiled. "I have to, now that you left that trap in the road for Shisui-San," he said with a flicker of a smile and wiped away a smudge of dirt on Sasuke's white forehead carefully with his thumb.

Sasuke sucked his cheek in and frowned. "He doesn't let you stay, Nii-San. He always takes you away. It's not fair," he complained with a red colour of anger in his small face.

"He could've been hurt. That's not nice," he said in a gentle voice and cupped Sasuke's cheek, "you know that, right?"

"He's mean, and—and," he stopped, and his face twisted into a look of concentration, "it was just a little game! He said yesterday that I can't make traps because I'm four. I showed him." He raised his tiny knuckle into the air and shook it. Itachi had an urge to pinch his cheeks, but he realised that it was hardly something to congratulate him on.

"Making traps is a dangerous pastime for such a little boy. I can't be here all the time to watch over you. What if you get hurt? Sasuke, don't do this again," he said, his voice gentle.

Sasuke stared down at the ground, his small feet dirty from all the dust and dirt around him. He was not even wearing any sandals. "Am I a pest to you, Nii-San?" he asked suddenly, the expression on his face melting into a look of complete sadness.

"Of course not. Why would you say that?" he asked and lifted Sasuke's chin up. "You know that's not true."

Sasuke averted his gaze, his small pink mouth shuddering now. His big black eyes misted over that he looked on the verge of tears. "You don't ever spend time with me. You always go away. You don't play with me. You're my only brother. It isn't fair, Nii-San—it isn't fair," he protested in such a small voice that it barely made it to Itachi's ears.

"Sasuke," Itachi sighed and bent his head a little to look at Sasuke's face losing its white colour under a thin layer of shadows. A ghost of a smile played about Itachi's lips. "I would never do it on purpose. I always try my best. But you know how busy I am. I promise I'll make it up to you over the weekend."

Sasuke lifted his head. A soft happy expression came back into his face, and his cheeks burnt with a blush of happiness. "You promise?" he asked and tiptoed to put his tiny hands on Itachi's shoulders.

"I promise," he assured, "but you'll have to apologise to Shisui-San."

Sasuke twisted his cheek in anger again. "I don't want to. He's mean. He does this on purpose. He knows I love you, Nii-San," he protested with a subtle twist of his mouth.

Itachi smiled in response, feigning surprise. "Oh, you love me?" he asked, pinching Sasuke's cheek and looking at the return of that same happy expression again. It danced in his eyes like fire.

"I do. I love you the most. Much more than Otō-Sama and Okā-San—much, much more. I'll do anything for you!" he said with such confidence and a big smile, bouncing on the spot as if to make a point. His hands were up in the air to show him how big and vast his love was.

"But you won't apologise?" Itachi asked, and his smile widened as he saw the look of realisation on Sasuke's face.

"No fair, Nii-San. You tricked me," he said and pulled away; he looked a little hurt.

"I didn't," he began and pulled Sasuke closer, "but if you love me, you won't do this small thing for me?" He looked into those eyes, a smile still lingering on his young face.

Sasuke rolled his eyes as if deep in thought and then looked back with a look of defeat on his face. "Okay," he said and emitted a deep sigh. "But only because you asked, and only because I love you." He pulled an angry face again, pouting.

"You're a good boy, Sasuke. Such a good boy. Come on, let me take you home," he said and wrapped his arms around Sasuke. He squeezed him to himself and stood up. He started walking against the cool breeze that blew down on them from the clouds.

Sasuke reached into his pocket and pulled something out. "I made this, Nii-San. Do you like it?" he asked and held up a silver necklace.

Itachi stopped and took it from his hand. "You made this yourself?" he asked and passed his thumb over the silver rings.

Sasuke nodded excitedly. "I couldn't give it to you on your twelfth birthday, but old man, Kora, helped me for three months. So, I made it," he told him in that same voice filled with wonder.

"The blacksmith?" he asked, looking from the necklace to Sasuke's eyes glinting with warmth.

Sasuke nodded again. "You like it, Nii-San? I can make it better if you don't," he said and curled his plump arms around Itachi's neck.

"No, Sasuke, it's beautiful. Thank you," he said and brushed his lips against Sasuke's forehead.

Sasuke leant his head against his breast and closed his eyes.

Itachi blinked and the dirty window of Rice Village's guest room greeted him. Another memory faded away. "Just a little game," he whispered and touched the cold necklace still draped around his neck. Rain fell down hard on the ground outside. Earth smelt sweet and musky. He felt the smell crawl up his nostrils, and he breathed in loudly, closing his eyes. "Just a little game."

"Itachi-Sama?" a voice came from behind him.

He turned around and brought his hard gaze upon Sakura. She lowered her eyes immediately, and a warm blush rose to her cheeks. It was so easy to trap this prey. Had he been a lesser man, he would have laughed when no eyes would see, no ears would hear, no one would bear witness to his tricks; but he was above that—secretive, hard, and cold. He did not celebrate his victories that way. No, he relished the feel of triumph that made his heart skip beats. It was a delicious feeling, fleeting, yet powerful . . .

Laying traps and catching prey was something he knew, his mind awash with so many possibilities and schemes. And he loved to put them to the test, watch as the unsuspecting prey landed there and bloodied itself with a needless struggle. It was always humane to put it out of its misery.

A deliberate brush of his chakra and a few soft expressions . . . is that all it took? All he had to do was push her towards Sasuke after those meagre flirtations. Itachi knew his brother would be predictable: she came on strong, and he rejected her so brutally. Such a child he was, and Itachi loved and adored him so for being such an easy read.

The muscles around his mouth desired to twitch, but he ignored it, ignored the very nature of Man to enjoy what he found amusing. He walked around the chair and sat down. Slipping his one leg over the other, he looked at her . . . and she shivered.

"What else have you found?" he asked and moved his hand to grab the hilt of his sword leant against the chair.

Sakura gulped down the damp air in the room and looked down at the scroll again. "The bird's also found in other areas—close to the mountains that make the southern border of Rain, and—" she broke off quite suddenly, "—and I-I couldn't find anything on the ninjas. They could be rogues. I don't know." She raised her eyes and peered through the curtain of messy hair.

"Unfortunate," he sighed and held out his hand. "Give that to me." He wore a blank face, his eyes cold, and her heart could not bear to look at him any longer. He made their encounter seem so trivial, so pointless. Did she really lay with this man? She pressed her lips into a thin line, her cheeks sweaty as she took one step and placed the scroll in his hand.

Itachi curled his fingers around it and stretched his arm to put it on the small table on his right. Then he turned his frigid face up to her, his eyes still empty and without a touch of anything soft. Sakura did not know what possessed her, but she took in a shuddering breath and stooped down a little, her green eyes overshadowed by a flare of lust.

Memories of last night came crashing down on her. The feel of him inside her . . . it was exquisite, wild, nearly divine. So what if he was cold? She was bold enough to pursue him. She could smell the scent of his hot breath on her lips, so close and so warm: it was cold iron on fire. Her lips were but an inch away from his when he parted his mouth to speak: "are you trying to seduce me?" The warm breath fell upon her lips and the sensation ran through her.

As if his question burnt her, she swiftly pulled back and stood a few feet away from him. Her gaze fell desperately on his beautiful face and the subtle, ghostly smile now dancing deliciously on his lips. He looked a little surprised. "I really would not recommend this," he remarked, tilting his head a bit to the left. His eyes were so cunning, so red suddenly.

Moments passed, and as she crossed a span of five heartbeats; she sucked in the stale air loudly and looked him in the eye and her skin tingled from his intense gaze. "Why? You slept with me yesterday. I don't think it's polite to simply forget," she said, her voice bold, unwavering, her face resolute that wore that heated expression upon it, like an unsightly red stain on a white Anbu-jacket.

Itachi looked at her for a few fleeting moments. He had that faint look of mockery on his face now—something only _he_ could create in such a manner. "I have really not forgotten anything. I can assure you, I have an excellent memory. I simply indulged you with a show, for you desired it quite desperately. Is that not so?" he asked, letting the smile overpower his urge to remain emotionless.

"I did," she retorted, breathing louder and feeling bolder with each word, "there's nothing wrong with that. You didn't exactly refuse me, either."

He straightened in his chair, and his gaze slid over to her lips that shivered in response, as if touched by something so palpable and hot. "Of course, it is hardly a sin to want another. I just believe you are too young, too inexperienced to try to seduce me."

Sakura sniffed at the air again, hearing the drumming sounds of rain on the corrugated roof. The smell of earth rushed at her, and she breathed in again to cool her senses. She took that cold gaze head-on. "I'm only four years younger than you—don't treat me like a child," she said, her loud voice falling down to a sharp hiss, her face overtaken by a grim look of anger and a bright red blush.

"Few years can be a lifetime. You really are very young to know how intricate and dangerous sex can be. It can be sinister, exquisite, soft even . . . if one allows oneself such moments of fancy," he spoke in a deep voice, and his eyes changed their outward appearance like a fidgety chameleon: one moment they looked clever, the next, so hollow and dangerous.

Lightning whipped the sky, and the underbelly of clouds burnt blue. The floor beneath her sandals shook and squeaked, but she did not break the contact of their eyes. "What was it to you, then?" she asked in a harsh tone, and her face worked feverishly with anger.

"Ah, that interests you so?" he asked with an uncaring smile upon his lips and that white face that showed a subtle red hue from the cold. "Perhaps a bit of curiosity given that you whispered my brother's name as though in a dream."

The angry expression disappeared from her face and shame came into her eyes. She shivered. "I . . . I . . . " She lost her voice and tore her eyes away from his.

"There is no need to be shy," he went on, pulling her eyes up with the power of his strange voice, "the next best things can prove to be quite the thrilling experience." He pulled the sword onto his lap and turned it around in his hands.

"You don't have to insult me. You didn't refuse me, and now look at you? Taking the higher ground! Both of you brothers, you're the same—cold and unkind," she said in a shaky voice and suppressed the tears on the verge of escaping.

His arm twitched a little, a reflex action, and suddenly the sword's tip was moving up between her naked legs, slowly. Her skin trembled as the cold edge dragged along the tiny hairs. "Do not move, or you will cut yourself," he whispered as he moved it higher and higher till it touched the hem of the short skirt and the soft swell of her inner thigh.

Sakura's eyes widened, her spine tingled, and a sudden rush of lust struck her core, and she felt moist between her legs. She looked down and hissed as the sharp tip cut into her skin. He pulled the sword back with a quick movement of his hand; then he shook it once to throw away a tiny spider and a single drop of blood clinging to its tip. "I told you not to move. Now you have cut yourself. How clumsy, Sakura," he said, his voice deep as he pinned the sword into the wooden floor.

She kept staring at him, the character of her features harsh under the assault of shame and anger. When she did not say anything, he spoke again in a heavy voice: "what do you want, Sakura? Do you want me to take you sweetly on the floor, push you unkindly against the wall, or bend you over this table in a wanton manner? You seem to be in a mood to play. Though, I must warn you, I have no desire to dirty my clothes in such a filthy place."

His words created a sting on her skin . . . and it burnt. "Is that all sex is to you, an—an act? A habit?" she asked, shocked.

He merely smiled. "You put so much value on this act. Sex is just an experience. An act of pleasure. Something delicious, exquisite, and seductive. It is hardly a prayer from Sage's holy teachings of that union of souls. I even call it a habitual release of social pressures. A mere spill after the high. Nothing more," he paused and his eyes darkened under the shroud of something she could not even understand, "you may think it to be some delightful folktale passion. Two souls joining together and whatever other foolishness people indulge in. I can assure you, it is not true."

Sakura's breath hitched in her breast, her eyes wide aghast. She felt denuded before him, spread wide open like an eager lover. The shame was too much. Her lips shuddered and she snarled, "you don't know anything about me. You know nothing!"

He moved his eyes to the grimy, dark books in the rotting shelf on the left. A fleeting look of disgust invaded his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as a sudden flash of light. He returned his gaze to her and something in his eyes changed. "You consider it some divine act of liberation. That is something I know about your young mind. I wonder," he broke off, thinking, "where does this notion stem from? Is that what compelled you to reach out to me? So foolish—and yet you believe you have gained such maturity as you are _only_ four years younger than I?"

"Stop!" she screamed, and her voice carried over wind's roars and lightning's lashes. Her body shook all over. The anger had become unbearable to contain behind that thin mask on her face.

Itachi's eyes grew sinister, and they made her soul shiver with fear. "Lower your voice," he warned, his voice icier than the wind. "Do not forget you are speaking to me. I will not abide such behaviour because you were entertained." Then his face morphed back into expressionlessness, and he spoke no more.

Sakura's anger subsided to a longing, and she quieted her loud breaths. "I know you'll be married in the future. All the Clan-Heads are. Is that what you'll think of your wife—someone to repeat an act with?" she asked, her mouth trembling with emotions.

He considered her for a moment and spoke, "yes, she would be no different. She will give me an heir, and I will keep her satisfied. Marriage is done for many reasons. Love is just a foolish dream between strangers and is certainly not a prerequisite for many marriages. Is that what they teach you at home—fancy notions of _the one_? I will respect her and will demand the same in return. That is all what that arrangement will be. And that is all what marriage is about. Life is not a few inky words on a folktale scroll you so adore." Then he fixed her with a disinterested gaze. "Are you satisfied with the answer? Your curiosity in my would-be wife is . . . astounding."

"Sasuke, he . . . he really takes a lot after you," she finally burst out loudly as if unburdening herself of the words she had in store for him.

He pressed his knuckle to his lips and his breast shook with the flutter of suppressed laughter. He looked amused. "Does my honesty wound your heart?" he asked, unable to keep a slight quiver of amusement out of his flat tone. "Do you want me to admonish Sasuke because he seeks pleasure? Rest assured, women flock to him—so many of them. I will not demean him for that. Should I belittle him for enjoying pleasure?"

Sakura stepped forward, her eyes brimming with tears now. "You don't think it is wrong that he—" she choked out, grasping at her chest as if it pained her, "—he doesn't care about anyone? That he doesn't—"

"—care for you?" Itachi spoke before she could put her thoughts into words, and it took her breath away. "Why be so dishonest and weave yarns when you can just speak the truth? I find this whole thing so strange, Sakura. I will not punish him for something so trivial. He does not love you. Do you want me to force him to? You ask for something I will never do. Even an eternity would feel but a mere blink of an eye for your preposterous requests."

"You," she began, feeling as if her voice left her, and she felt weak, striving unsuccessfully to keep herself calm, "you're the reason why he is like this. So uncaring. So unkind. He doesn't care for anyone but you. Why did you do this to him? Why?"

Itachi got to his feet, and his face hardened like an unyielding stone beneath a cascade. "You do not know my brother. You just pursue him blindly out of wild lust. He is but an object to you—an object you so desperately want to possess. Your frenzy is what led you to pursue me. Tell me something, what do you really know about him? Why do you love him?" he asked in a dark tone, and his face came under the shadows, his body a dangerous silhouette before her against the dull light behind his back.

"I don't need any reason to love him. You wouldn't understand," she bit out and gritted her teeth. That lust felt like a dull pain in her body now.

"Ah," he breathed out and crossed his arms, "but you are so arrogant to assume that I do not love. I love more deeply than the limits of your shallow imagination. What you feel for him is not real. It is lust—a mad pursuit of ecstasy. And you will perish once it wounds you to your core. Do not say no one ever warned you."

"What are you—" she stopped and staggered back, her face ashen, her eyes wide with nothing but fear.

"I am merely showing you a mirror. Lights do not ever reach the roots beneath the ground. Whatever gets trapped, wriggles and dies in their grasp—but sometimes, an opportunity comes by. A miracle occurs and someone digs up a hole to allow that unfortunate animal to escape. If it chooses to stay, the roots become its final grave. How unlucky for that prey in a trap . . . it is so foolish to see the signs," he said and watched her expression subtly change into a look of confusion.

"I don't understand. I . . . " she let out a tiny whisper, looking defeated.

Itachi did not entertain her with an explanation and resumed that creaking chair again. "Prepare the final report. We will leave in an hour," he commanded. She looked hesitant at first, but eventually nodded and left the room in silence.

Once she left, he leant his head back and listened to the soft sounds of the wind and the rain's patter against the cracked walls. His thoughts went back to Sasuke. Did he _really_ pay a band of thugs to poison an emissary? He closed his eyes and sighed. He needed Itachi out of his affairs for a day or two, and he managed just that.

Sasuke wanted to go to Mist, and he allowed him. Kai and Serizawa would be so foolish to guess his games. "Such a child, Sasuke," he let out a whisper, looking at his warm breath hanging in the air, "you still enjoy these little games? You still want your brother to figure them out, do you not?" He felt the chill of breeze on his back, and the fine hairs quivered on his neck. "Your brother is weary, and if it is just a little game, then it needs to end now."

And for him, everything became silent . . .

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	32. Sex and Playtime

**Chapter Thirty-Two** : Sex and Playtime

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He felt the blood in his body heat. His neck grew hot and red beneath her lips. They brushed kisses against the curve of his neck, her hands sliding down to the expanse of his taut muscles. He could not control the flutter of his lashes, the deep shudder moving through him—so violent and delicious.

His hot gaze locked onto her as he took her in from head to the point where their bodies connected in a wanton union. His hand went up, and her nipples peaked under his fingers. His eyes slid heatedly across her body, looking at the red hair spread haphazardly over her white skin, dotted with the most peculiar of freckles.

He slid his hand down and passed it over her damp skin, snaking his fingers around just because he enjoyed the shiver of her beautiful skin. Down and down they went, stopping to curl around her narrow waist. He circled her navel with the tip of his fingers and went further down. Then they threaded teasingly into the coarse red pubic hairs, and he rolled her clit between his fingers, feeling the damp wash of her arousal stick to their tips.

Her breaths came out quick, and she jerked her hips forward, causing him to fill her some more. He never liked women to ride him, but he would be damned if he did not like the sight of her damp body, that beautiful face contorted in passion, and those lithe, plump thighs spread wildly just over his hips.

His black eyes were dilated and cloudy, and when she moved her hips, his back arched off the mattress as though he was riding a violent, stormy wave. A sharp hiss escaped his clenched teeth as her tight heat sucked him in more and more. His eager hands grasped at her legs, and she rocked her hips deliciously. He had not experienced sex like this for months—so raw . . . so wild. He was invited to stay in her room, and he had not left it for a whole day. It did not matter to him that she liked to play. No, he loved this playtime and all its wantonness.

So he let her ride him, let her rock her hips over and over again with an odd kind of frenzy that his lusty body loved so much. Her sweaty thighs gripped his waist with such strength and she clenched hard, and he felt himself spill a little in her wet, tight sheath. The pleasure mounted, and he practically gasped through his raspy throat.

That little control . . . it was slipping further and further away. His desire to take her hard and fast was overtaking his mind as rationality and reason slipped back and primal instincts took over. She bent down, and he welcomed the heat of her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers like an old, old ritual. When she backed away, a string of saliva hung between their mouths. He dragged his lips along her jaw and felt the quiver of her quick pulse there.

She squeezed him playfully again with a powerful jerk of her hips, and something inside him snapped: he flipped her over, and then he drove into her ruthlessly. He rode her hard and he rode her rough, feeling those walls drag along his length so exquisitely. His veins throbbed violently with hot blood, and his teeth scraped along her throat; she panted loudly and twined her legs about his waist, pulling him closer . . . and he went in deep, her walls, so hot and slick—tight, so tight.

He did not know what he was doing, his mind blank. It was just the violent jerk of his hips as he propelled her back on the bed. The grunts that tore from his throat were loud and wild, his breathing heavy, but he did not stop. The ruthlessness of it all spurred him on as he thrust into her with such force that she cried out.

That pleasure, like a hot-iron whiplash, right at the base of his tingling spine, the spasms rocking his whole body. It was so delicious. Her heat, an iron-tight grip, and he loved every inch of it. He pumped in and out of her in frenzied movements. Her walls clamped down hard on him and sucked him in with such force. Damn, she was so tight.

It did not take long, and she clenched with such strength that he felt a hot release erupt out of her. Her warm walls quivered and fluttered in answer around him. He felt the tremors of her powerful orgasm, and he, too, erupted with a groan of completion and collapsed on top of her. He pulled out, his lips shaking against the soft lobe of her ear.

It took long for him to cool his lingering passions. His breathing still hissed in and out of his teeth. Her legs wound tightly around his hips, but he felt her loosen her grip, and then she finally unwrapped them. His pants were wet from their sweat; they felt itchy on his skin now.

"So rough, Sasuke-Kun," she spoke against his shivering skin, her lips on his sweaty throat again . . . and damn it to hell, he was still hard as an evil rock.

Her lilting voice sent tremors down his length, and he found himself working into her again, their bodies still slicked with sweat; then he felt her bucking upwards, and he began matching her pace. It did not take long for it to turn into a jerking, frenzied, clawing affair . . .

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Lying on his back, Sasuke stared absentmindedly at the ceiling. It was night. The moon hung high in the sky. Its white shafts barely made it in through the open window. A cold autumn breeze rustled the dry bushes outside, and the crickets chirped noisily—their sounds sharp and intermittent in the dead of the night.

He took in a shaking breath and filled his lungs with fresh air. His fever was cooling—that delicious feeling throbbed dully in his veins now. The sweat on his bare breast quivered down the sides. He sat up, his eyes roving slightly in Mei's direction. She was sleeping peacefully under the rumpled sheets. His Sharingan could tell. He swung out of bed, stretched, and stumbled over to the door, picking up his discarded shirt along the way.

The house was quiet. The guards had left the area for another round about the village. He could never believe them to be so foolish. Stepping outside, his eyes turned skyward, and the shadows changed to dark clouds overhead. They barely hid the moon behind them. A small stream spilt from next to the well, bubbling up and sending cool sprays to make the grass soggy.

Sasuke bent down, made a scoop of his hands, and splashed his face several times. The heat still lingered in his body like a steam on a tempered blade, but he would manage. He slumped down next to the well and leant his head back, his ears filling with the plashing patter of light drizzle that dotted his face and soaked through his clothes.

"So loud, Sasuke," a mischievous voice said from inside the well.

Sasuke did not turn his head and pushed his hair away from the forehead. "I thought I told you not to come till the moon was not on the other side. You don't ever listen, do you, Suigetsu?" he said and wiped his wet face with the back of his hand.

"Don'tcha worry. We have enough water here. No one will be able ta detect me, anyway," he replied and poked his watery head out of the mouth of the well. That wide smile was plastered across his face, complete with the over-efficient display of pointy teeth. "Jūgo is keepin' an eye on Chōjūrō and that Byakugan-hoardin' blow-hole."

Sasuke put his face in his hands and wiped away the droplets again. "Good," he said and looked down at the ripples in the small stream running just by his feet.

"Ya know she's a clever little slut, right? Can't believe ya keep fuckin' her like that," he remarked and propped his head up in both his hands. "She's such a screamer, too! I heard her ruts all the way over there by the lake. I'd just say that we should ambush her and cut her throat—the easy way. But ya just can't stop porkin' her."

Sasuke let out a soft laugh and bent his head, his body quivering. "In time we'll do that, too," he said slowly and kept his eyes locked on the grey moon swallowed up by the dark clouds. "But she really is quite exquisite, no?"

"Bah, so what? Like hell ya will do it," Suigetsu shot back and pulled an annoyed look. "I think I've lost ya ta that deadly curse of Mist's slippery pussy."

Sasuke cocked his head up, amused. "Is that even a real thing?" he asked and twisted his head to look over his shoulder at him.

Suigetsu made a shocked face, his eyes bulging out. "Dear Sage's bloated nuts—ya didn't know?" he gasped and stretched his neck to look into Sasuke's eyes. "These sluts use extra Chakra to make it all good. Artificial bullshit! It goes through yor pee-hole all the way ta yor kidney and does funny stuff ta yor head. It's scary! Ya better use Sharingan ta check your winkle."

"Kidney and then straight to the head . . . sounds elaborate," he said jokingly, smiling.

Clouds rumbled suddenly and thunder shook their bones. They both felt a sudden rush of cool wind. "Fine, don't believe me," he said, sucking on his teeth. "Ya know, ya should use it to yor advantage. Keep her busy."

He leant his head back and felt the pleasant chill of wind on the droplets clinging to his skin. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied and closed his eyes. "So what did you find? I hope Jūgo's Sensing skills proved useful."

"They did," Suigetsu said, the excitement in his voice rising, "we founds a trap door in the last hideout. The one yor brother couldn't see."

Sasuke twisted his back and turned to put his elbow on the wet, hard mouth of the well. "And?" he asked, his face showing a look of scepticism.

"It had natural energy mixed into the threads. Don't think a regular Mangekyō would've seen anythin'. He acted on my message just in time after I saw that nasty crow. Yor bro is scary, though. Do ya think he knows?" he asked and raised his eyebrows high.

Sasuke looked away for a moment and a look of innocent amusement came into his face. "He must have found out by now. I could only keep him busy for a day. Had that emissary died, things would've escalated and Nii-Sama would've been assigned to look into the matter. What a wasted opportunity," he scoffed, appearing disgruntled.

Suigetsu looked around and whispered, "where are Serizawa and Kai? Their bloody Sharingans will spot me."

"Spiked their drinks. They're out cold," he said and slanted his head against his closed fist.

"Heh, good!" Suigetsu jumped out of the well. He stretched and his joints popped. Then he looked down and spoke, "did ya see anythin' else in her head durin' that trainin'? Pinky-Chan's, I mean . . . ?"

"No, just a recent memory about the Cloud emissary. I didn't want to dig deep. Last thing I want is her weeping before Tsunade that I'm digging inside the empty echo-chambers of her mind now. Tsunade would've sent her as a support medic anyway," he stopped and pinched his eyes closed. "Those thugs—did you do your job right? I don't want them tracing it back to us."

"'Course," Suigetsu said and put his hands on his hips in a manner as if he was about to argue against a game's foul. "Jūgo knew 'em through some loafer in Rain. They was always against Kuma's bullshit. I wore that chakra mask, so all is cool. They're all dead anyway. I mean, the ones who knew Jūgo are—a clean slate."

Sasuke did not say anything. He knew Itachi would be mad. His face was drawn and hard as he stared at the fluttering flowers by the stream. What kind of punishment awaited him this time? He did not want to think about it.

"It was a bold stunt, ya know. He would be so mad," Suigetsu said in a low voice, his face free of mischievousness. "Ya better tell me what ta do. The trap door? It only had a scroll about Kisame's accomplice in Rain. Some faggit named Kisuke. He's all the way over in a village close ta Cloud now. It's a small trade centre and no one's allowed in without a military permit. It's day's journey, at least. And I don't have the permit ta enter. What do ya have in mind?"

Sasuke bit his lower lip and found his breath. He had suspected that Kisame was hiding it out in villages. His decision was right—there was no going back now. He reached into his pocket and threw a small scroll at Suigetsu. He caught it and asked, "what's this?"

"It's a permit," he said and got to his feet.

"Did ya use his Anbu seal again?" he asked, a bit incredulously. "Sasuke, that's two times now. He's gonna be fuckin' ballistic. He didn't say anything last time because you was so damn mad. But he's not gonna let ya off this time. Not with the emissary thing. You know whatcha doin', right?" He looked at him with questioning purple eyes, his mouth elongated the wrong way.

Sasuke's face went tense, and he spoke with a strained voice: "you don't want to find out about Mangetsu and your father?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just—"

"Then what's the issue?" he cut him off in a harsh voice that trembled with an odd kind of vulnerability. "I know I'll be in trouble. That was the fastest way to get you an entry. Nii-Sama will be back in a day at most, and I can only keep Mei busy with the trials for a day more to keep her mind off that Kisame business. If you don't find anything by then . . . then forget this whole thing. It's over." He jerked his head away; fear flickered across his face that was turned red by the chill. He loved his brother, but he scared him.

Try as he might, his mind had so many blank spaces, unfilled gaps, he could never understand. His illusions made his skin crawl with mortal fear and real agony. He felt as though he had died many times and was reborn again when he woke up after the fevers. And damn his mind, he could never remember a thing.

Suigetsu made a _tsking_ sound and twisted his mouth. "Ya will be in trouble. Big trouble. What do ya want me ta do? This isn't as easy as ya think. Yor clever—very clever. The smartest guy I know, and I've known a lotta men, but damn," he paused and let out a loud sigh, "yor brother's a fuckin' daemon! I don't even know what he'll do ta ya. Heck, he could kill me!"

A clever smile returned to Sasuke's face that pushed away that anxiety momentarily. "He won't," he said in a soft voice, his eyes growing red.

"Thanks for the _huge_ reassurance," he retorted with a frown. "He loves ya, so yor safe. Me? He'll grill my flat, wet arse with Amaterasu. Just ya watch."

Sasuke chuckled and put his hand on his shoulder. "What's the worse he can do? He can't throw you out. He knows it'll be easy to get around that way. He won't kill you, because he knows I value you. He won't ever do it," he said with a hard, sure look on his face—a curl of innocent amusement in his smile.

"That's so adorable, but what about ya? Ya really think he's gonna kiss yor forehead, scold ya a little, and sing ya a little lullaby this time? If he punishes ya, then what the fuck am I gonna do with whatever that Kisuke guy tells me?" he asked, his eyes squinting with stress.

The fear came back to Sasuke's face, but his muscles fought bravely to keep it at bay. He managed a smile and spoke—a little slowly this time: "don't worry about me. Meet up with that guy. That permit will let you through without any trouble. Use a mask to hide your face. Whatever you find, hide that information and don't tell me unless I ask about it. Don't tell Karin and Jūgo about it. Keep this between us. Nii-Sama can't read your head, but he can read mine. What he won't read, he wouldn't know." He narrowed his eyes dangerously, looking resolute to see this through to the end.

Lightning fulminated and a spark lit the place: it was like a shroud of pure white light. It suddenly disappeared and heavy rain came pouring down. Sasuke felt as though he was doused in ice-cold water. Suigetsu raised his cloak above his head, and rain drummed on the thick water-repellent cloth. He looked a little indecisive, staring into Sasuke's eyes that were wary under the thick shroud of doubt and fear.

Suigetsu remembered that white face struck by a cord of fear way back in the past, those empty eyes staring at him, telling him of an unsung tale of autumn moths going for purple lilies. He did not say anything and gave a slow nod. Then he stepped around Sasuke and looked back at him one last time before he jumped back down into the well . . .

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	33. A Hard Man to Find

**Chapter Thirty-Three** : A Hard Man to Find

 **Canon Manga Info** : Sasuke's intellect is superior to Shikamaru's by quite some margin. This can be easily argued by considering his feats (unparalleled Hagoromo's level of Ninjutsu skill and Chakra Control; making and perfecting several Ninjutsus and Genjutsu, Shuriken-Jutsu, and Kenjutsu on his own; and his quicksilver mind, clever thinking, and the ability to form counter-strategies on the spot, with hundred-percent success rate), his opponents' intellect and Shikamaru's own statement (" _ **among my peers, he (Sasuke) was outstanding in every respect. He was certainly superior to me**_ ") in the Viz (official) translation of the manga.

Some of his best strategic feats are luring Orochimaru (a rare prodigy) into a trap with Fuma-Shurikens in the "Forest of Death" through such a quick strategy that fooled him completely. He never saw it coming as he did end up getting caught in the trap and was burnt. His complete breakdown of Haku's tech with a counter-strategy, and his ability to force out his Sharingan shocked the young Ninja.

He learnt and perfected Chidori and Lee's weightless speed (something he hadn't even seen) in mere weeks that shocked both Gai and Lee as it takes "years (according to Gai and Lee)" to perfect that technique. He also perfected the art of learning and combining Nature and Spatial Transformation (a feat higher than A-Rank, which, according to Kakashi, takes years to hone) within a week, without any training, when he was just a five-year-old child. Sasuke's use of the full-power of Two-tomoe Sharingan, despite the Cursed Seal causing him pain, took Kakashi by surprise. I can post more, but Sasuke was only twelve then.

So whatever you have read or assumed about Sasuke being some kind of fool from the mouths (or hasty fingers) of the vocal, and very foolish, anti-Sasuke minority on the internet isn't canon nor is it even remotely true. Sasuke's a rare prodigy/Genius and has been referred to as such by Haku (Viz Translation), Jiraiya, Kakashi, Orochimaru (who called him a greater genius than himself when he was Sasuke's age), Shī, etc. No amount of self-made facts fueled by an unhealthy (and comically idiotic) hatred for a fictional character and ridiculous assumptions alter anything about Sasuke's status as a rare prodigy/Genius in canon-manga.

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Sounds of so many voices . . . it was a great burden to bear—perhaps too great. He stood stock-still by the tree, his blue eyes dilating and swirling. He watched the weak sun as it got smothered by the clouds. Their anger was too great this afternoon.

The umbrage of trees by his feet stretched out. Long and crooked they looked, eerie, like an ominous evening before its rightful call. Sounds chased the sparks, quick and eager in their pursuit to cut the still cold air into pieces. The bark beneath his fingers shook as another bang resounded. Autumn was here. He moved his eyes, a little less eagerly, and found Sakura flowers dying on the trees.

A few puffs of wind tore them away from the dry branches. Their time was over. They would bloom next spring. He wanted to smile as though the wait for their new birth blossomed the desire to live in him, too, but the feeling of remorse and sorrow tore up his heart. He really was trapped. No matter how hard he tried to tear himself away from his life, the shackles felt too heavy, too sturdy to let him wander off as his heart desired.

His desires … little by little, he had killed them, murdered them all like a remorseless mad killer in pursuit of the innocent, bled them dry in the dim corners of his mind. There they ran like children, hiding away in some nook and corner behind the blanket of blackness that did not shield them. They let out such soul-chilling screams, and by Sage, it shivered in him—that black mass of malevolence.

The thing never left him alone and writhed just underneath a thin film of protection that was eroding away under its acidic touch, the landscape of his mind abraded by its stench. He knew, he just knew that soon he would find himself at its mercy again. He needed those red eyes to calm it, to push it back. Sasuke, where was he?

His face hardened, a carved stone under the drizzle. Where was Sasuke, now that he needed him the most? Needed him to soothe his demons? Needed him . . . to just be his brother? He knit his brow and looked skyward, the cold wind rushing at his face and he moved his feet without thinking, not paying any mind to the maw only a foot away from him.

A powerful hand seized him. "Naruto, stop. You almost fell in. Are you feeling all right?" Neji asked with a concerned face, holding Naruto's arm in a firm grasp.

Naruto cocked his head and managed a half-hearted, fake smile. "Yeah, I-I'm fine. Just something on my mind," he muttered and pulled away.

"It must be something grave if you decided to hurl yourself down into the pit. What's on your mind?" he asked and looked down into the deep hole: it led to a network of underground caves. Sasuke and he were assigned to check it every week. It was impossible to get in or out without the Dōjutsus. Many ninjas died there, looking for a way into Konoha . . . and even out of it.

"Nothing," he lied and looked away as though the Byakugan might pick apart his secrets. "I was just thinking about the Jōnin application. Wonder if Sasuke will even accept it." He put his hands upon his wet face and emitted a heavy sigh.

Neji looked unconvinced, but he chose not to press it. "I'm sure he will," he assured and turned on his Byakugan to check the wet rocks. It required a very precise chakra control to stick the feet to the rocks and not plummet down to one's death. They were slick and wet—too wet for Naruto's feet to find purchase upon them.

"You think so? I mean, are you sure I'm even ready?" Naruto asked and bent his head a little to look down. The darkness by his feet seemed to suck him in.

"I don't know. Sasuke-Sama had to oversee your training, but he got ill. Then, when the time came to train you again, he . . . he got busy, I suppose," Neji said and turned his head at Naruto's curious face. The blond looked inquisitive, slightly excited at the prospect to head down to the underground caves.

Neji straightened his back with surprise on his face. "You're not coming down with me. Stay here and watch the area," he said calmly, watching as a deep frown disturbed the blond's happy face.

"Why not? I can make Kage-Bunshins and scout out the area quickly. You underestimate me, Neji," he said and cocked his nose in a prideful manner.

Neji sighed. "It isn't about numbers. You use clones to make a single Rasengan, for Sage's sake. Your chakra control isn't precise enough to run down these rocks. They're slippery and covered with fungi. One slip and you'll just break your neck and bones," he reasoned and gathered chakra around his feet to run down the rocks.

"You can help me climb down, then. I'm not standing here, freezing my butt off while you take your sweet time wandering around the caves," he protested, sounding stubborn.

Neji let out another loud sigh. "It isn't exactly a picnic down there. It's dark and dank and it smells awful. Sasuke-Sama and I simply split the area and check it in a couple of minutes. Without Sharingan, it wouldn't be possible to give chakra a different colour. You can't help me down there, Naruto," he said with an air of annoyance and turned around to jump down.

"Neji, take me with you, or else, I _will_ jump down and see where fate takes me. I mean it!" he warned and pressed his lips together into a thin line as if he was struggling to speak.

"Fine," he sighed and held out his hand, "just grab my hand and don't stop the chakra flow. It'll even out yours and you might just make it down there—without breaking your neck in two."

Naruto grabbed his hand. "A ray of sunshine, aren't you," he retorted, a little annoyed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flare; when he rubbed it against his jacket, its end burst and sizzled into a thick flame.

"So I've been told," he said and took a long leap into the darkness with Naruto.

"Sasuke's mean-streak has rubbed off on you," he remarked and kept his legs steady as both of them stood at an odd angle upon a very wet rock.

Their feet clung to the slippery fungi, the chakra tearing through the thick layer to secure their passage. They leapt from rock to rock and roiled the mist hanging in the chasm. The red light bounced off the wet rocks and rent the shadows wavering about.

At last, Neji landed down into the mud. Naruto slipped beside him but caught his balance. He craned his neck to look up; he could still see the opening some five hundred feet above their heads. Few trickles fell down upon his face, and he wiped them away hastily.

"Has it?" Neji asked at length and gulped down the cold air in the maw—it was a heavy weight in his lungs.

Naruto fixed him with a curious look, and his mouth twisted into a smile. "'Course it has! Sasuke's a jerk. In fact, he can be a _real_ asshole, sometimes. Imagine, sticking to him nearly all the time like you do as his assistant—it's gotta be contagious," he remarked and gave a slow laugh.

Neji did not say anything and flicked his head to indicate that they had to go. "Just send a few Bunshins down the tunnels in the back. Make sure you check every nook and corner. I'll keep my Byakugan on—just in case," he said.

Naruto grinned and created three Kage-Bunshins. They mimicked Naruto's expression and created quite the din before they disappeared down the tunnels behind them—each with a flare in hand. The lights glowed for a few more feet, disturbing the darkness's rest, till they disappeared from sight. They could see the Bunshins no more.

"Say, Neji," he paused and wiped away an ice pellet with the back of his hand, "is your seal gone now—has the counter-seal really worked?"

Neji stopped and turned around. He looked a little surprised. "Did your father tell you?" he asked, staring at the artificial blush on Naruto's face in the red glow of the light. Even his blond hair appeared vivid red.

It was so cold here in the dark. The sun never shone on the rocks, and the smell of musk and dead plants suffused the air. It was a little hard to breathe. Naruto's breath whistled out of his nose; then he sniffed loudly and coughed to clear his nose and throat.

"Yeah, I know he's a little nosy. Who knows how he found out 'bout it. How did the Hokage approve, though—or your clan? I thought they said they never wanted to part with the Head family?" he asked and wiped at his face again. The cold drops that fell down from the rocks above stung his cold-bitten skin.

"Times change," he said and squeezed through a gap between the rocks.

Naruto followed him and stuck his arm through the gap first to let the light guide his way. "Good for you. At least, you're free. I'm just surprised the Hokage approved. You know the kind of influence Hiashi has on those old farts. They even try to force the Hokage's hand sometimes. They're all in on the most shady stuff," he said in a gruff voice and pulled his leg out of the gap, steadying himself.

"I don't know how, but Sasuke-Sama got it done," Neji said in a soft voice, his face softer still as the red light touched his sharp cheeks and made them glow.

Naruto coughed and put his hand on his head to scratch his scalp. "Sasuke? Really? But . . . how?" he asked in a confused voice—his features told the same story.

Neji put his hand on the wet rock beside him and turned his head a little to look at the area obscured by his blind spot. The whole world around him was still awash with monochromatic shades. He saw the glow of chakra in a centipede crawling into a crevice and a few crabs scuttling here and there, seeking water. They would find it just down the tunnel.

"He'd sent in a proposal to Itachi-Sama and Karin made the counter-seal. All I had to do was get the votes to remove the seals. Karin's very talented. I didn't know it was even possible to make one," he explained, his eyes white, the veins popping visibly around them. "All it takes is a promise of freedom . . . perhaps that's all my people needed." He turned his head away and took a few steps to stand beside a lone purple lily jutting out of a crevice. He touched it with the tip of his fingers, lost in thought.

Naruto leant against the rock and held the flare high. The shaft of light stretched out in front of them and so did their shadows that mingled eerily with the black everywhere. "I wonder how Sasuke got Itachi to give in. The dude's a complete asshole. Not even the nice-asshole kind. He's just an asshole, period!" he said distastefully and wrinkled his nose as if he had just smelt something really rancid and foul.

"I get a feeling that you don't like Itachi-Sama. It wouldn't be the first time you've bad-mouthed him," he said with a smile and looked over his shoulder—half his face came under the sharp red light. "They're brothers. I'm sure Sasuke-Sama knows how to get things done."

Naruto looked incredulous, his blue eyes bulging out. "How can anyone like an asshole? Neji, you are too nice—and naïve," he said and made a silly face, looking somewhere between annoyed and angry. "And Sasuke? Bet he gave him the puppy-dog eyes, wept a little, and told him that he won't speak to him ever again if he didn't do as he says. His emotional blackmailing works every time—like a charm." He widened his eyes and created a toothy grin on his face.

Neji pressed his knuckle to his lips and suppressed the laughter vibrating in his chest. "You sure know how to put things into perspective," he remarked, wearing a smile on his wet face.

"Itachi's weird. He either smothers him with unconditional love or kicks his ass with no care in the world. There's no grey in-between. None at all. And Sasuke seems totally cool with these psychotic episodes. Been telling him for ages to put his foot down, but he starts breathing down my neck if I say one bad word about _Nii-Sama_. I swear it, Itachi's fucked his mind. I get that feeling, sometimes," he ended with a loud, dramatic sigh.

"I'm sure," Neji remarked with a quirk of his eyebrow and started walking ahead, "shall we finish this? I have to get this done before Itachi-Sama comes back. He might require a report of the Team exercises, as well."

"Yeah, go ahead, avoid my analysis. You know it's true—Itachi's _creepy cock_!" he said loudly behind him and listened to the caves echo and the words bounce back at them about a dozen times: _creepy cock, creepy cock, creepy cock_ . . . then he took in a deep breath to fill up his lungs and looked up at the faint glimmer of light beyond the jutting rocks overhead. This was going to be a long day . . .

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It was afternoon when Suigetsu made it to the trade centre: it was a small village wedged between two tall mountains. Cloud village was close, hidden behind the blanket of clouds to the north. He turned his head and lifted his eyes to look in that direction. As expected, the clouds obscured his vision.

He adjusted his cloak and pulled the cowl down; it hung low over his eyes. He stood behind a scruffy looking man in a long line. The smell he gave off was churning his stomach. Tilting his head a little to the left, he looked over to the gate—only two more people left, and then it would be his turn. The gate was sturdy and few burly guards stood on either side, flanking the passage. An old man checked the entry permits.

Suigetsu squeezed the permit in his hand. Despite the reassurance Itachi's Anbu seal provided, he could not help but feel a little terror at the prospect of getting caught. The village's prison was notorious for its ill-treatment of prisoners: few died, murdered by the inmates, every month. There was never any inquiry. Damn, what had he gotten himself into?

Finally, the man in front showed the old man his permit and walked through the gate, taking that disgusting odour with him. "Hold on to yor sacks, dear Sage, here we go," he muttered and took a single, slow step to stand before the old man.

"The permit?" the man squeaked in a shrill little voice and held out a wrinkly hand. Suigetsu did not hesitate and quietly handed over the permit. The strange looking old man, with a great stoop to his back, adjusted his glasses and bent his head down, his long nose touching the paper. His eyes widened, and then he squinted them to look up at Suigetsu who did not flinch even though his heart was tripping with fear.

"An Anbu permit!" he squeaked again, sounding like a talking mouse in a hole. "You can find the weapons down the street. You're allowed to stay at the inn free of charge. Enjoy your stay." He held the permit in his hand and gathered his crumpled face into a big smile; what he managed was truly a miracle for his sagging folds.

Suigetsu nodded and took the permit from his quivering greying hand. Sasuke was thorough. He had made a permit for weapons' purchase for the squads. He was to act like a new weapons' specialist who checked several shops in the trade centre. He was not obliged to buy anything; but the permit, a snobbish look, and the silence fitted the job.

Konoha's military men often came here to purchase weapons. He was this nameless guy, his name hidden under Anbu military protocols. With Karin's chakra mask in place, no one would know he was even here. Heck, men from Root frequented the centre, as well. It would be impossible for Itachi to lay the blame on him.

Suigetsu chuckled and walked to the inn about two hundred feet away behind the shops. The younger Uchiha really was a clever little imp. Sasuke never remembered what Itachi punished him with. His brother was clever to rewrite his memories. The strength of his cruel Genjutsu painted those incidents black, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he was sure his brother would not get inside his thoughts this time—and he was right. Itachi had punished him cruelly this time, and he did not want to risk hurting the tender chakra veins behind Sasuke's eyes anymore.

Sasuke being Sasuke was unintentionally taking advantage of his brother's weakness. If all went well, he, too, would exact revenge upon Mist and Konoha higher ups that got his brother and father killed. All was well for him; but he could not help but feel guilty for lying to Sasuke. They had been friends ever since he came to Rain in his childhood. He remembered Sasuke, only ten then, sticking close to his brother, looking up with a smile on his face for reassurances, his small hand in Itachi's.

They had come to watch the local ninjas display their skills. It was a monthly show for influential families in the villages. A bit pitiful, but that was how the poor survived there—few lucky ones anyway. If they impressed someone, they would be labelled hired-hands, taken under their wings and off the market.

Sasuke clapped enthusiastically when Suigetsu finished demonstrating his Kenjutsu skills. He pulled at Itachi's hand to come with him. They talked and Sasuke introduced himself and his brother. He remembered the innocence on Sasuke's face and the cool look in Itachi's eyes. He could tell that he was a cold-hearted, remorseless man. His heart could only be thawed by his own flesh and blood.

Itachi's hand was buried protectively in Sasuke's messy hair. He was a parent to him—his mother and father. He requested his brother to make Suigetsu a ninja they could hire regularly for work. Itachi was reluctant, but looking at the unhappy look on Sasuke's face, he gave in. Suigetsu was so poor back then, his clothes tattered and torn. His skills with the sword impressed Sasuke. He took pity on him and his poverty, and Suigetsu could not say he hated him for it. No, he was secretly glad that someone did.

He had not eaten for three days. Alone and left to rot by Mist, his mother died; and his line ended, save for him. If Sasuke had not taken pity on him that day, perhaps, he would have died, too—alone and forgotten by the village that used and killed his family. Sasuke's favour saved him that day. He saved his life. He owed everything to him. That was why he hated lying to him. Would Sasuke even forgive him if he found out? He wondered, his face blank and his eyes downcast, looking at the countless tracks left in the path.

He breathed in the scents wafting to him from the inn, thinking. It was for Sasuke's own good. He did not want to break the brothers apart; it was something he himself had lost but craved for endlessly. He was not that heartless. Sasuke was so clever, but he was also naïve. He did not know what he had. Only Suigetsu could tell that how a cold hard man like Itachi suffered in anguish over his misdeeds. He loved him too much, but his love was dangerous.

He treated Sasuke like a fragile child he never wanted to part with. He felt as though he would break like a glass doll if he did not coddle him, indulge his every whim; but he was just as cruel when he did not obey. Itachi's cruel side always resurfaced when Sasuke did not heed his words and chose to disobey him, repeatedly. Suigetsu feared for Sasuke. He was prone to being very moody, very rash when Itachi did not listen to him. Perhaps he really was a child—just as Itachi always said.

Sasuke always wanted to have his way. He was stubborn and so innocent in his mannerisms to make Itachi give in to his requests. He used whatever means necessary to break Itachi's hard resolve. One time in the past, he did not eat for days when Itachi refused to allow Team Taka to be a part of his squad. At last, he became feverish from the ordeal, and Itachi went back on his word.

Itachi did not want Naruto to be a part of Sasuke's team; so when Itachi did not listen, Sasuke left home. It took him days to find him, holed up in some cave close to Mist. The lies he told to be off Anbu Captain's duty then. He went back on his word again. By now, he was used to being put to the test by his little brother.

Oh, how Sasuke tested him over and over again. And the more angry Itachi got, the more moody Sasuke would become. It was a reaction that came to him naturally—ever so eager for his brother to accept his every demand. He continued his streak of innocent games as a new Captain, testing him over and over again. Finally, he lashed out and got punished over a lax security mission.

The prisoner got away, and the inquiry nearly cost Sasuke his freedom. Itachi was so angry with him. Sasuke had not listened to any of his warnings. He did as he pleased. That earned him a little time in Tsukuyomi. Delirious, he wandered out of the manor and disappeared into the night. Itachi searched and searched for him, but he could not find him.

He hired Suigetsu for a mission for the first time. He remembered the look on Itachi's face. For the first time, he saw a shroud of cold fear upon his eyes and great sorrow in his face. It was almost unbelievable to see such a stone-hearted man be moved towards the verge of sorrow.

Before that fateful day, Suigetsu used to do menial tasks for them. It was his first real mission. He searched Rain's border and found Sasuke slumped against the tree. His eyes . . . were so empty, and he was crying blood. Thin red lines went down his cheeks, diluted into a faint pink by the rain.

He kept whispering something about autumn moths and purple lilies. Suigetsu did not understand him. He could not say he ever understood why he said those words. Itachi was led there by his crow sitting on Suigetsu's shoulder. He sat down and crushed Sasuke to himself in a tight embrace, as though he had just found his lost child. A look of relief came to his face, and he would swear upon his mother's grave, he saw him shed a few tears of guilt and relief. He must have thought the light rain to be a clever curtain, but Suigetsu's eyes were keener than that.

Itachi whispered promises then—so many of them—that must have fallen on deaf ears. His brother's lips said nothing but the same tale of moths and purple lilies. His tamed madness frightened Suigetsu. He felt . . . pity for him. Suigetsu was fearful of the man he hardly knew, but he asked him anyway, unable to keep the words in his throat. "What have ya done to him?" he had asked fearfully, gazing upon Itachi's cold face broken by a lingering trace of grief. It was subtle, but the power that lay behind it shocked Suigetsu: he did feel something—he was not a walking, talking statue made of stone.

Itachi did not say a word, he pressed his finger against Sasuke's forehead and he fell asleep. Then he picked Sasuke up and left in silence. It was strange. His love was strange. Twisted. He could never understand him. Still lost in thoughts, he pushed open the door of the inn. The metallic bell hanging at the door chimed, and his memories got cut short.

He looked over to many men sitting around the tables and made his way to the counter. A fat man lumbered left and right, holding a cloth in hand. He was wiping a plate clean quite vigorously. Suigetsu settled himself on a chair and tapped his hand against the shiny wooden-counter. "I'd like a cup of sake. Make it strong," he rasped and adjusted his cowl a little thoughtlessly.

The man placed the cup before him. He downed the cup and looked at him and pulled the hood back. "I saw sharks the other day around Mist's ocean. They go there often?" he asked, watching the man's face change. He looked fearful and nearly dropped the glass in his hand. He tip-toed and put it on the top shelf and stretched his fat arm to its limit.

He stopped close to him, bent down, and moved his beady little eyes left and right. "What do you want? He doesn't come here anymore. Don't ask for trouble," he whispered in a shaky voice, the spit from his mouth clinging to the thick moustache. Its ends were so pointy. He had twirled it well.

Suigetsu leant forward and put both his hands on the counter. "Am lookin' for his right hand—he lost it here, I heard," he said, narrowed his eyes, stretched his lips wide into a smile.

The fat man wobbled a little and pursed his lips; they practically disappeared behind that great red moustache. "Upstairs," he whispered in that same thick voice again and moved his small, shiny eyes to the right.

Suigetsu flicked him a mischievous look and made his way up a very narrow stairway. He was shocked the fat man even managed to squeeze through the tight space; but, apparently, he could see bottles upstairs and footprints on the creaking stairs. It was probably a storage space. He cast one last look behind him and opened the only door when he made it to the top.

When he opened it, a strong smell of alcohol rushed at him. It was a dimly lit room with bottles of sake sitting on the shelves. Many had dead snakes in them. It seemed the villagers liked their drinks strong. He took one step and an arrow broke the vase into pieces just beside him. He narrowed his eyes and saw a man sitting with a crossbow in the shadows. It was aimed at him this time.

"Ah, Kisuke," he spoke in a playful tone and raised his hands slightly in the air, "yor a hard man ta find, though ya could improve that aim. It missed me by two feet."

"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked and stood up into the weak beam of light. He was a man around his mid-thirties—quite scruffy looking with that overgrown messy hair and a silly looking, fake beard. It had too many curly white hairs.

"Ya look like a man that has seen some serious shit. And—" he paused, catching a whiff of a nasty smell Kisuke gave off, "—ya smell like several men. They ain't got no showers here, buddy?" He waved his hand in front of his face. The puff of wind from the window must have sent the smell his way.

Kisuke aimed the crossbow higher this time, his eyes two dangerous pinpricks of black. "I asked you something," he said, his voice gruff and threatening.

"Hōzuki Suigetsu. The fishy knows me," he answered with a grin.

"You look nothing like the fifteen-year-old youth I saw a decade ago. I don't even sense your clan's chakra in you. Who sent you?" he asked in a grave voice, and his hands shook this time with fear and anger.

"Whoa there, sonny! It's me. Let me show it ta ya," he said and put his hand on his face. The mask was stuck to his skin like a glue. He pulled at it and it peeled off and revealed his true face. "See? This handsome face's hard ta forget."

Kisuke lowered the bow, his face enveloped by shock, and his eyes widened in amazement. "What on earth? I can . . . I can sense your clan's chakra again. W-What's that mask? It's brilliant!" he exclaimed, almost jumping on the spot with excitement.

"A friend made it. Ya want it?" he asked and smiled as he watched Kisuke nod several times. It looked as though he was jerking his head back and forth like a hungry cock. Suigetsu closed the door behind and took a seat by the table. The lantern overhead swayed back and forth, and its beam followed it with precision.

Kisuke sat opposite him and stretched his hand to touch the mask when Suigetsu pulled it back. "Not so fast there, buddy. Ya want it? Well, you gotta earn it. Where's Kisame? He's got somethin' I want, and he's bein' a wild lil' fishy these days, jumpin' from pond ta pond. It's not even possible ta find that son of a bitch—or whatever monstrosity his mum was. Ya was so cosy with 'im. Where has he run off ta? I need ta know," he asked and opened the buckle on the sheath and put the massive sword against the old table.

"He told me you would come, but I don't know where he is. The bird I sent to him hasn't come back in weeks. I'm not even sure if he's still alive," he said and passed his hands across his sweaty face. He was sweating by the buckets.

Suigetsu groaned. "What a waste of me time. Boss's gonna get his lil' fanny whipped for nothin'," he said, irked.

"You're here for the Tulip Squad business?" he asked, leaning forward over the table, his face sliding in and out of view. And by Sage, his hair was crawling with lice! He scratched his lice-bitten neck, and Suigetsu flinched a little.

"No shit! And man, your head's crawlin' with life. Sit away from me. Those things can jump high and long," he paused and created a disgusted look on his face, "and take a bath, will ya?"

Kisuke grabbed hold of his dirty shirt and stared back at him with hard eyes. "You think I like this? Living like a dog, eating leftovers, and not showering for days? Mist dogs have been sniffing around here. The hunger, the stench, and the smell of alcohol hide my clan's chakra. That's the only thing that's kept me alive. I need that mask to get outta here. Or else, they'll kill me. I just know it. I—" he whispered, shaking. A gob of spit hung from his mouth.

"What do ya know, then?" Suigetsu asked, and his eyes roamed across the pitiful state of the man's blackened clothes. They might have been white in the past. He could not really say for sure.

Kisuke wiped away the spit and took in a deep breath. "I know that Kisame and others were hired to arrange for a Mangekyō Sharingan for Root," he lowered his voice to a mere whisper, and his eyes moved back and forth between and door and Suigetsu's face like a pendulum.

Suigetsu was surprised. "A Mangekyō? Danzō could get dime a dozen of those—diggin' 'em straight from the bloody graves after the massacre. Why would he hire such expensive mum-fuckers to get one? What're ya snortin', buddy?" he asked and slapped his hand on the table. A cloud of dust rose up into the air and made him cough.

Kisuke emitted a low growl. He did not look as though he was in a mood to argue. "I'm telling you what I know. Danzō made a hefty payment and gifted Mist Isobu's essence and the Jutsu to contain it. It happened before the damned massacre," he said, and his eyes shrank under clumps of dirty hair.

" . . . what? They gave them the essence? I thought they already had it?" Suigetsu asked incredulously, his eyes wide with shock. This was something new.

Kisuke shook his head. "No, Danzō gave it to them with the Jutsu. Minato's wife made it for them. It was a proper deal. Yagura sat down with them. The squad. Everyone was there. The deal was made to get a pair of Mangekyō Sharingan—a rare one. That's all I know." His gruff voice subsided to a low mumble, and then he fell silent, his eyes looking hopefully at the mask on the table.

Suigetsu ran his hand through his hair. It made no sense. Why did they want a pair of eyes so many had? Maybe Sasuke knew more than him? He was an Uchiha, and they guarded their Dōjutsu secrets well. He got to his feet and reached into his bag, still hanging from his shoulder.

He pulled out a much smaller bag and threw it on the table. Kisuke jumped up as if he meant to attack him. "Take this. It has a mask and a permit outta this village and into Rain. Take the road the long way around. Stop nowhere other than a few villages the permit allows. Don't ever take that mask off. Yor life depends on it. Reach Rain and contact the Uzumaki family as the scroll says," he explained, keeping his voice low.

Kisuke kept looking at him for more. After a few seconds, Suigetsu frowned and raised his hands in the air. "What're you waitin' for, ya fleabag? Grab the stuff and let's go," he said in an annoyed, sharp voice.

"Hey, I don't have to listen to you! And what's this?" he broke off and opened a small pouch in the bag, "is this gold?" He bit the coin to check its authenticity, and his face suddenly brightened with greed, his eyes shining now.

"Ya gotta. Boss's orders, ya know. He planned the whole thing. If ya don't listen, he told me ta cut yor throat right here and march out the front gate. And there would be no more gold for ya," he said in a chirpy voice, his features adjusting themselves to that same mischievous look again.

"I have to come with you—now?" Kisuke asked, his hand still fumbling in the bag, his eyes blinking rapidly.

"There're no more gold pouches in there, ya flea-packing idiot! Take a shower, put the mask on, and let's leave. I'll drop ya off at the next border. Don't stray from the route the Boss mapped for ya. He practically highlighted it with fancy brush strokes. Even a jackarse can't miss the signs," he said with impatience.

"All right, all right—but this gold better be enough." He put the pouch back inside the bag and closed it with a resentful look on his face.

"Or what, my lice-lovin' friend?" Suigetsu asked with a horrible grin on his mouth. When Kisuke muttered something in response, Suigetsu tilted his head to the right and placed his hand close to his right ear. "What was that? Yeah, thought so. Get movin'!"

Kisuke's mouth was clamped shut. He wanted to say something but did not.

# # # # # #

It was morning when Itachi made it to his office. The emissary was transferred to Shizune's care, and Tsunade was overseeing the medical procedure. Kuma survived, but the poison weakened his heart. It was not anything fatal—nothing a little chakra heavy pill or a long sleep could not fix.

He sat in his office, looking at the clock. It was just past five a.m. He had not slept a wink in two days. He was a hard man but he was human. He felt his body weaken from these long hauls without any rest; and he had yet another mess waiting for him. He turned his eyes and stretched his hand to brush Kirin's breast. It had been screeching in its cage all morning. It missed Sasuke.

He had taken it out of its cage in Sasuke's room and brought it to the office with him. It was quiet now, making low sounds after every few minutes, its eyes locked with his as if it did not enjoy his company. It sat on the table and pecked at the brush hard as it rolled back and forth. It was, apparently, annoying it. A knock came upon the door.

"Come in, Neji," he said softly, his Sharingan on to look at his chakra.

Neji stepped into the room. He always looked nervous in his presence. He bowed and placed the scroll on the table. "I apologize, Itachi-Sama. Naruto slipped down a tunnel. It took me a while to get him back up," he explained, a little breathlessly, his cheeks red and hot from excretion.

"Your report is fifteen minutes late. Would it have come early had Naruto not . . . _slipped_?" he asked, his tone unusually frosty. Neji did not say anything. His eyes were downcast, and he looked embarrassed.

Itachi petted Kirin again, but it responded by pecking irritably at his fingers. "Where is Sasuke?" he asked as he continued to stroke the bird's smooth feathers.

Neji looked up, his eyes wary. "Kai-San sent in a hawk an hour ago. They were sixty kilometres past the last Village's border then. He should be back in two hours," he said and dropped his eyes down to his feet again.

Itachi grabbed Kirin from the table and brushed his fingers against its smooth breast. "Of course he will be," he said in such a soft, whispery voice as though he was talking to himself. Neji thought he saw a faint smile playing about his lips. He put the bird back down on the table and looked at Neji's sweaty face. "Tell Tetsu outside to inform all Squad-Captains to bring their weekly-missions' report to my office within three hours, including Sasuke."

Neji nodded in silence. He made to leave when Itachi spoke again: "Forget about Shizune's. She is busy with another task. Tell Sai to bring Kiba along. I need to speak to that shinobi. He sounds . . . quite interesting," he said after a long pause, and his mouth twisted in a strange, but faint, smile. "And do ask Serizawa to bring my Anbu seal from home when he gets back. Talk to him alone. Let us not make this another odd, untimely _slip_." His face lost that smile; it appeared hard and uncaring again. He returned back to the idle task of petting the bird.

Neji did not stick around. He bowed and left in silence, leaving Itachi to whisper something odd to the bird—something about Sasuke . . .

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	34. A Punishment Gone Awry

**Chapter Thirty-Four** : A Punishment Gone Awry

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Try as he might to control that heart, it rumbled along with an erratic thump. Konoha's gates loomed into view: the tall thick pillars exuded the typical smell of chakra infused wood he was so accustomed to by now. That damned Yamato and his knock-off Mokuton tricks. He could not say he ever liked him. He took a few more steps and came under a weak strip of shadow thrown by the pillar as it caught the light of the morning sun.

He stopped and raised his head towards the light. It was pallid, weak. Autumn sun never could burn on one's skin; and yet, he felt cool sweat oozing out of his pores. Sweat drops quivered and tingled on his skin, and he gulped down the dry lump in his throat. He was passing through the gate to his judgment . . .

He felt a heavy slap on his back and Kai's face suddenly occupied his vision. "Come along, Sasuke—Itachi-Sama's asked us to bring our reports in. Yours is required as well, and we're already half an hour late. Hurry up," he said and slapped his back again.

"I heard you," Sasuke said. Pangs of dread and gloom assailed his mind. He wanted to be anywhere but here, but there was no use hiding. How long would he elude his cunning brother? As if the thought made him accept this defeat, his black eyes dimmed, and his face turned sad.

He felt like a child—afraid of being caught and punished for his games. He had disobeyed his brother, and now was the time to brave up to him and suffer through whatever he had in store for him. He knew this day would come the moment he touched that Anbu seal. His fingers had brushed that wooden part, and a delightful shiver of fear went skittering through him. He was defiant then, a wayward young man his brother thought to be no more than a child.

Sasuke's feet moved, and each step weighed heavily upon his mind. He walked through the gates. His Sharingan, feeling the anxiety in him, resurfaced as if trying to shield his body and mind from any assaults that awaited him; it whirled with determination in his eyes. He saw dust collected in the leaf symbol cut in two now as the heavy gate lay open in front.

Few ninjas stood by the gate—the cowed fools that guarded these walls. How he hated the lot of them now. A shower of a chakra-shield fell over him as he crossed the line of invisible chakra on the ground, his body awash in tingles that scurried down his spine: it was an old defence mechanism. Most bypassed it through the underground caves. Even a common Sensor could sniff it out. Those decrepit fools that controlled the policies had grown senile.

Sakura stood with Neji a couple of feet away from the guards, watching him. Their eyes met for just the smallest moment, and he read her completely. That desperation . . . he saw see it in their depths. It was like they never relinquished it—a hot fire that never went out. Sakura flowers may have wilted, but her wild desires knew no bounds. It was such an affair for her; it was bereft of logic.

When would she learn her lesson? His harsh words that day had not taught her to let things go. He had the sudden urge to mock her for her foolishness to pursue him, but it was hardly the time to think of such things. He had worse things on his mind, grave things, and he did not want to crowd his thoughts. Not now.

He paused in his steps when he saw Neji make his way to him. He looked a bit worried today. He stopped and gave a bow. "I hope your work went well. Itachi-Sama, he," he paused and coughed, his brow sweating, "he's asked for reports on Suigetsu, Jūgo, and Karin, as well. You sent them all on holidays and altered their duty roster. I don't think Itachi-Sama knows about it." He looked at Sasuke, his eyes unusually dim. He seemed deeply concerned.

Sasuke shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked away to the sky, his face creating an artificial look of indifference. It was just an act. Itachi knew how to nail him to the wall. He was just going to use it to break him, and that punishment would not be that far behind. "Let me worry about that. You can finalize the rest of them. Meet me in the office in twenty minutes," he said and looked in the direction of the melodious sound that came to him from behind the trees.

He blinked and saw a white orb whoosh toward him. In the next moment, Kirin landed on his shoulder. It screeched loudly to tell him of something. He titled his head back and let out a soft laugh, feeling it press its tiny feathery body against the crook of his neck. It suddenly fell silent and made tiny, soft sounds that filled his right ear. "You missed me?" he asked and grabbed hold of its tiny body.

Its small eyes stared at him from over his fist. Sasuke bent his head down and brushed his nose against its breast. It made another melodious sound in response. "I brought you treats all the way from Mist. You like pink fish, don't you? I got these for you," he said and unzipped his jacket to put Kirin in that small pocket on the inside. He fumbled inside his pants pocket and took out a small packet. Kirin screeched loudly when it saw a small piece of dried up meat held between his fingers.

Sasuke did not say anything more to Neji. He started walking to his office. He had a calm, innocent smile on his face as he fed Kirin. He felt Sakura's eyes follow him, but he did not turn to say anything to her. He needed missions' reports from her, but she was on a mission with his brother. Let it be Itachi's own headache.

# # # # # #

"Woof woof . . . " Kiba paused, chuckling with that big grin on his husky face, ". . . woof woof, and then he pissed straight into his eyes. His aim has greatly improved, Itachi-Sama."

The way Itachi stared back at him was quite amusing: his stone-cold sober face was devoid of even a hint of a smile, his eyes two stones that could wither a man in one glance. The monstrous effort it took to suppress that laughter, Sasuke was surprised he kept it lodged deep in his throat. He merely bit his lower lip and bent his head down, a smidgen of a smile stretching his lips.

Itachi stayed silent, his eyes taming Kiba's laugh. He turned it into a hacking cough, and then he suddenly fell silent with a sheepish grin about his lips. That happy smile slid off his face, and he wore a really stupid expression now, his face erupting in sweat. He licked his mouth in a very dog-like manner. Itachi merely looked down to the scroll. He seemed mildly disgusted.

"Let me put this into perspective," he said and put the scroll aside, "your dog urinated on one of the guards of an emissary during training? In a public area? Inuzuka clan is known for such bold and uncouth behaviour?" He feigned surprise, mocking him.

"Itachi-Sama, Akamaru didn't—"

Itachi raised a silencing hand and Sai fell silent. Kiba's grin came and went. He was embarrassed. Neji stood next to Sasuke; both of them had their heads bent. Shikamaru had a lit cigarette that hung from his mouth. A trail of smoke went up into the air from its tip. When he saw Itachi's eyes on him, he swallowed it whole. That bored expression disappeared from his face for just a moment, and then it returned after a slow deliberation. His face could not function without it.

 _Chōji_ stood behind him, his legs shaking. Itachi scared the life out of him. His stomach was bloated today. He had eaten too many chips out of anxiety in the morning. The prospect of handing Itachi that weekly report always did that to him. He could not say standing behind Shikamaru hid him well. Ino stood next to Sai, her eyes moving between Kiba and her Captain. She was an assistant Jōnin like Chōji.

"Akamaru's still a pup, Itachi-Sama. He made a mistake," Kiba said in a throaty, fire-crackling voice. His face burnt with shame.

"You let him loose in a public place and the animal is at fault? Common sense envies stupidity," he said and got to his feet. "You are his Captain. Is this the way you want to proceed with your captaincy, letting your Team do as they please like the animals they keep? What a fun, motley bunch that must seem like." He looked over to Sai. The young Captain's head was bowed.

"I apologize, Itachi-Sama. Kiba is training Akamaru well. It probably acted out as it was locked up for two days after the injury. None of us expected it. I'll write a letter of apology. It won't happen again. You have my word," he said and put his hand to his breast. He appeared sincere in his apology. His pasty face was tinged red with embarrassment.

"There will be no next time," he said and leant against the table. He was unmoved. "Leave. All of you. I do not want any of you around the premises before today's exercises end." All of them bowed and turned around to leave. "Not you, Sasuke. Stay."

Sasuke stopped and turned around. His eyes caught the angry glint of the sun moving away from the window. Then he stood still, his head down, eyes fixed upon the clean wooden floor. He listened to the sounds of their steps leave the building. It was so quiet all of a sudden. Only Kirin's soft sounds speared the air. It was sleeping in the inside-pocket of his half unzipped office jacket.

The silence prolonged. Sasuke could actually feel his brother was looking at him, but he did not raise his eyes to meet his. The searing intensity of his gaze was making him shiver. At last, he spoke in a soft voice, "come here. Sit." He pointed to the chair.

Sasuke did not lift his eyes to stare back. He drew the chair and sat down. Itachi stretched his arm and pulled at the drawer. He snapped it shut and put the seal on the table with a loud thunk. The sound resonated in the room. Kirin let out a sleepy, startled cry but subsided to a soft patter of melodious sounds.

"You know what this is?" Itachi asked, his hand on Sasuke's damp forehead as he brushed the unkempt, tar-black hair back, stroking Sasuke's head slowly as though he was a small child.

Sasuke was quiet, his eyes downcast. "It is my Anbu seal. No one is allowed to touch it, use it, or move it without my permission. But you achieved all of that . . . twice. May I inquire why?" he asked, his voice still incredibly soft. "Your chakra lingered longer the second time. What did you use it for? I am sure you can humour your brother."

Sasuke's shallow breaths were stuck in his throat. He could not speak. His lips quivered with emotion. He was afraid. His brother terrified him today. He found his tone to be … fake, mocking. His eyes were starting to mist over. Did Itachi hate him that much to mock him?

Sasuke did not move his eyes, and they remained directed to his ashen hands. It was as if fear had sucked the blood dry from his body. He could see the green veins throbbing just beneath the white skin. He rubbed at his wrist and the shivering flesh there turned pink, but he was still . . . silent.

"So silent," Itachi said, his voice a little deep, breathy. "You think I do not know what you have done?" his voice rose a little, yet it still maintained that patient and soft tone. "You nearly got the emissary killed through a band of thugs just to send me away. Did you read Sakura's mind to find out about the mission? Her mind and body are so precarious—nothing stays hidden there." His face became a little hard. A muscle twitched on the side of his jaw as though he was disgusted by her name, though his eyes were soft as they roamed across Sasuke's young face.

Sasuke's countenance was deathly pale and not a single heavy breath greatly moved his breast; his tongue, a trained animal in his mouth. He could still wriggle out of this if he did not say anything. It was better not to speak.

"Why did you do this? Did you expect those men to get killed? Why make such an elaborate plan just to send me away? I could have asked Suigetsu, but we both know he is not apt at playing these games. You are," he said, looking down at his face. "You come up with these tricks, these games just to have your way. You thought I would never find out? Such a child, Sasuke." He shook his head.

The wind hissed outside the window and overpowered the soft sounds of their breaths. "You are not leaving till you tell me what you used this seal for. This was—what you have done—it is unthinkable. You have no idea what you have done, you disobedient child. You nearly got a political official killed." He bent down a little and let out a heavy whisper: "if anyone finds out, you will be put to death. And you do not even care. You have never cared about yourself—or me. You are not leaving. Not today. I am not letting you off this time. Not till you tell me what you did." A small look of worry flickered across his face, but his worry gave way to tamed anger that glinted in his eyes.

The sounds outside did not distract his hard gaze that was settled upon Sasuke like a warm, heavy blanket in winter. Sasuke still did not speak, words . . . just clinging to the tip of his tongue. He did not let them spill and tumble out of his mouth. Moments passed and stretched to a long lull between Itachi's words. He spoke gently again with a command in his voice, "look at me, Sasuke."

And despite himself, Sasuke raised his eyes. When their gazes met to battle, his brother's eyes pierced into his, and he felt a great pang of fear in his heart that was left so fragile at the sight of his dreaded shurikens that spun with a faceless fury. His heart tripped, a stalled bird. Something in the darkness of his mind stirred violently, and his body convulsed reflexively. He stood up with a sudden jerk. The chair fell back with a loud thud behind him, his eyes wide as if he was already in Tsukuyomi; his whole body quivered, his lips sealed tight as if cruelly sewn together with stitches.

Sasuke staggered back and that fearful heart raced madly, painfully. His foot knocked against the chair, and it skidded to the right. Unbeknownst to him, a few tears moved down from the side of his red eyes. They burnt on his skin, his breaths quick and loud as though he had been running. Sasuke looked so terrified . . . afraid that Itachi was going to do something to him again. Itachi only stared, his face covered by such a thin layer of shock and remorse.

"I will not punish you. You have my word," Itachi said and stretched his arm to touch him, but Sasuke staggered further back; Sasuke cringed away from Itachi's touch, his eyes still fixed on his as if he was trapped in a painful illusion, struggling to tear free.

Sasuke's lips trembled open and he spoke, fighting with emotions: "I'm not telling you anything. I won't tell you anything." His breast heaved. His face was whipped red around his nose and cheeks.

"Do not be a child—do not be stubborn. Tell me what you did. At least, I would know how to protect you if someone finds out about this. Do not do this. Do not test me," he warned, the Mangekyō Sharingan pulsing in his eyes, threatening him like a dangerous predator with its claws out. The fear mounted on Sasuke's face. His eyes were terrifying Itachi. He had never seen him so afraid. It was tormenting him to use it to rouse fear in him, but it was for his own good . . .

"I won't. You can't make me," Sasuke said in a defiant voice filled with such anger, trembling, "you'll ruin everything. I won't let you. I won't—" He staggered back and turned around to rush out of the door.

"Sasuke, your fingers so much as touch that door and this will be your last day as a shinobi. You do not want to test me—not now," Itachi said in a harsh voice behind him. "Then you can weep and protest and I will not budge. This I promise you." Itachi's face was hard like an iron-mask. He stood straight—anger washed over him. Sasuke had to be disciplined.

Sasuke's fingers were close to the handle. They trembled with the desire to touch it, but Itachi's threat had a greater affect upon him; he pulled his hand back and stood with his head bowed, defeated. "Come to me," Itachi spoke, his voice tamed by softness again. His hands stretched out as he moved his fingers slightly to call Sasuke to him.

As if under the power of hypnosis, Sasuke's feet moved before he could stop himself. He stopped close to Itachi. He took Sasuke's face between his hands and tilted it up to him. His thumbs worked with such precision as he wiped away the tears drying around Sasuke's eyes. "Such a child," he spoke in a calm voice, hoping that it would soften his brother's anger.

"Just tell me. You have my word. I will not say anything to you. I will not punish you. What did you use that seal for? Did you make something for Suigetsu, for someone else? A permit—some kind of permission? What did you do with it? Just tell me," he whispered close to his face, his warm breath fanning out on his cool forehead. "You are a good boy, Sasuke. You are such a good boy." He bent his head and pressed his lips to his forehead, his eyes looking at the nearly ruined chakra veins behind Sasuke's eyes. If he used Genjutsu now, he would drive him mad. It pained his heart. He had been too cruel to him . . .

Sasuke looked back at him, his eyes wearing a cover of defiance now, pushing back the fear. "I won't tell you anything. You'll just have to kill me to get it out of my head. Do as you please. I won't tell you," he said in a shaky voice, and a smile trembled on his fearful face.

Itachi's hands slid down. He looked at him with an expression of disappointment. "All right, if that is what you wish," he said and walked around the table. Then he pulled out a scroll from inside a drawer and placed it on the table. "You are dismissed from your duty. I will decide when you get to join again. You cannot leave the confines of Uchiha manor. You are not allowed to contact any of your team members. If I catch you disobeying me, it will result in your permanent discharge from service." He cast his cool gaze upon the bewildering expression on Sasuke's face.

"You can't do that—you can't," he spoke with difficulty as if he was out of breaths. The wind was knocked out of him.

A cold smile stretched Itachi's lips—just a little. "You are such a lovable child. You always forget that I am _more_ than just your brother," he said and drew closer, his eyes fixed upon his. "I will forget this whole affair. All you have to do is tell me, and I will burn this scroll right now. Your emotional tricks are not affecting me this time. You are not getting out of this. So either you leave for home and consider yourself discharged for as long as I deem it necessary, or you tell me the truth. What will it be, Sasuke?" He crossed his arms and looked back at the flare of anger in Sasuke's eyes.

Sasuke lifted his head, his face shaking with anger, his cheeks red-hot with fury, and his eyes wild with the raging heat of Sharingan. "Damn you," he hissed through trembling lips in cold anger, with contempt on his face. Then he spun away and stormed out of the office. Not a moment later, Kai rushed into the room. Itachi breathed out a loud sigh and leant back against the table.

"Itachi-Sama, should I—"

"Let him go. Let him cool off," he said and pinched his eyes closed. He was tired . . .

Night had fallen and Sasuke had not come back. Itachi sat in his chair, looking outside the window at the sombre sky. Wind had eased up, but now, light rain was pattering outside. The door to his office opened with a loud creak and Kai stepped in. These hinges needed oiling; autumn and rains had rusted them beyond use.

"You called, Itachi-Sama?" he asked and bowed.

"Where is Sasuke?" he asked and put his elbows upon the table.

"He abandoned his duties and left for home. I haven't seen him all day," he said and clasped his hands behind his back.

"He did not even complete his duties . . . this child," he whispered and buried his face in his hands. "Call him back. I was too harsh on him. He will do something rash. I should not have been too hard. Tell him that he can come back to his duties."

Kai looked at him hesitantly. "There's something more important that requires your attention," he said and put the scroll in his hand upon the table. "Danzō has asked for a hearing concerning that Byakugan investigation and Mist prisoner's mysterious death. Sasuke has to show himself before the Hokage, elders, and him in three days."

Slight shock disturbed Itachi's composure. "This man . . . what does he want with my brother?" he said in a heavy voice, and his eyes grew cold. He flashed his eyes to Kai and stood up and grabbed the scroll from the table. "Cancel all of my missions. I am going home to talk to Sasuke."

Kai bowed and watched him leave.

The night was cool and pleasant, wind calm. Thunder roared loudly in the sky a few times, but the rain remained gentle. It took him a few minutes to reach home with the scroll in his pocket. A large Uchiha lantern was lit in front of the symbol of the clan. The lantern moved back and forth as the wind snuck in.

Itachi closed the door behind him and listened to the rush of feet across the wooden floor. An old servant, Tanaka, came before him; his hands, knotted with veins, were shaking from cold. "Welcome home, Itachi-Sama. Shall I get you dinner?" he asked, his small eyes shining. He was a kind-looking old man.

"No, I need to speak to Sasuke first. Where is he?" he asked and took off his sandals.

His head snapped in the direction of Sasuke's room. He was swaying now. It was difficult for him to stand for such a long period of time. "I haven't seen him since evening. What's the matter, Itachi-Sama?" he asked, his voice raspy and old.

Itachi turned on his Sharingan and found the whole house empty save for Serizawa crumpled on the floor in Sasuke's room. He rushed to the room. When he opened the door, a smell of burnt flesh went up his nose like fire. Serizawa's body still trembled with the electrical charge. Sasuke had used a mild Chidori on him. He could see Serizawa's heart beat slowly in his breast. He was alive, with minor burn wounds all over his body.

Itachi drew closer to the low table when he saw Sasuke's headband abandoned upon a scroll. He stooped down and picked it up. It was a resignation letter: Sasuke had resigned and left home. "Sasuke, you child . . . " he said through clenched teeth, " . . . what have you done?" He sank down to the floor and put his hand upon his face. Where would he find him . . . in three days?

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	35. A Wayward Brother

**Chapter Thirty-Five** : A Wayward Brother

 **AN** : This chapter will show my take on how the **Mangekyō Sharingan** works. I've taken away the blindness caused by its overuse. It's temporary in my fiction. This gives Itachi an immense advantage, something he didn't have in the manga. As you've noticed, I've knocked **Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan** Sasuke several tiers down, because he's impossibly strong (for this fiction and in canon); I didn't want any Godly characters in my fiction; they don't suit this plot.

You've already seen which form of Susanoo Sasuke uses: it's the fully formed " **Ribcage** **Version** " with an arm. He won't be able to use any form above it. I've taken **Kagutsuchi** away from him, as well—bar his ability to quell the flames. That's the only **Amaterasu manipulation** ability Itachi had in the manga.

 **Canon Manga Info** : I wanted to show a human vulnerability in Itachi, a throwback to that famous arc in the manga in which Obito stated that Itachi would've " _divulged Konoha's secrets_ " had Sasuke been harmed in any manner by the higher-ups. Itachi admitted that whatever Obito stated about the mission was true.

Mind you, Danzō manipulated Itachi by telling him that his brother will be spared in exchange for the mission.

# # # # # #

The sun was high and the weather cool. Two days without any sleep, and another night with no rest, had left him so irritable and exhausted. He was human, after all. His body was tired. His mind could not work like it normally did. A dull fever gripped him. It burnt like a smouldering coal left overnight in the hearth. There was a glimpse of fever in his eyes, and a tinge of red in his cheeks.

He took long stiff strides to her office. A crowd of shinobis standing in the hall parted away. Many of them shouted honorifics. As always, he showed them nothing but indifference. He opened the door to Tsunade's office, his hard eyes falling on her fair face. He closed the door behind him. The sound of the click made her look up at him.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, his voice so deep and heavy. It had a subtle undercurrent of anger that was a little hard to miss. He approached the table, a scroll held tightly in his hand.

Tsunade slowly stood up from her perch, her hands on the large table. Few cushions were put on the chair to give her that much-needed lift. She frowned, and her eyes locked to the shurikens spinning in his dangerous eyes. "Is there any reason for you to use such a tone and grace me with your untimely visit?" she asked and her mouth twisted in irritation, an angry colour rising in her cheeks.

He put the scroll on the table, his eyes heavy on her face. Her eyes yielded before the foreboding, turbid darkness in their depths. Then she lowered her eyes, picked up the scroll, and read it. Anger slipped from her face and was replaced with worry. He could even see a flicker of subtle shame race across her face.

"Is there any reason for this political trick? Now of all the times—" he stopped himself before he could say any more. His waxen face trembled for just a heartbeat with controlled fury. Then that hot anger slipped back to the empty corner from where it had briefly broken out.

Tsunade raised her eyes and anger returned to her face with a sudden swiftness. She did not like his tone. "That's the first I'm hearing of this," she said as she tightened her jaws and lips and rolled up the scroll. A scowl was on her face now. "This order didn't come to my table. He must've gone straight to the Elders for this." She put it back on the table with force and it wobbled.

He crossed his arms and looked at her with a hint of mockery on his face and the ever-latent arrogance in his eyes. "Are you playing the apt role of a woman of secondary value to the higher-ups? I thought them to be beneath you in such affairs? Surprises, you are full of them, are you not, Hokage-Sama?" he said, elongating the word slowly and enticingly to bruise her ego.

Tsunade's eyes sparked with anger, her knuckles shaking. "Itachi," she hissed, and her eyes squinted against the menacing aura that floated to her from his accursed eyes, "how _dare_ you use such a tone with me? Sasuke's immature attitude has rubbed off on you, or do you both take perverse pleasure in the showcase of this disgusting arrogance?" The breath hissed noisily from her mouth. Her nostrils flared. That fair face was deep red and contorted in anger.

A cold smile came to his lips, settling on his face like an eerie mirage. "My honesty should not wound you. How did he give this order without your consent? Or are you in on this, playing a game with me to corner my brother?" he asked, threat dripping from his lips. His mask was slightly broken by anger—but for him to show even _this_ much? It surprised her.

Tsunade's eyes widened, anger still flickering across her face. She looked somewhere between shocked and livid. Her red mouth curled in rage, of which she had yet to let go. "What are you talking about? Don't talk in riddles," she said and gazed intently at that young, haughty face. He really looked just like his brother: if only Nature had fixed those small mistakes, it would have been impossible to tell them apart.

Itachi shook his head in amusement—that frosty smile apparent on his face now. "It is a simple question. It would be better if you did not elude it. Though I wonder," he paused and narrowed his eyes on her face, "how much that precious student of yours will gain from this? Another Uchiha caught by Root. Brilliant, they would say."

Raspy breaths left her lips. The red in his eyes was picking at her sanity, like a crow at a dead-man's rotten-eye. "What does Sakura have to do with this?" she asked, her lips dry. He sounded so cruel . . . so inhuman when he spoke her name as though there was something of a liquid malice swirling in his mouth, and he so desired to spit it down into the gutters.

The corner of his mouth twitched. That mocking look melted into something no less intense. He reached into his pocket, pulled a scroll out, and threw it at the table as if he was playing fetch with a whelp. It bounced off her stomach and landed before her—right between the stacks of scrolls. She stared down, then up, livid.

"This menagerie pays her well for her foolish ways. How well will it end for her if she loses her life in such a petty scheme," he said, his voice coming out in a cold, whispery manner that made her hairs stand on end.

"What are you—" Tsunade stopped; her breaths had gone shallow. She looked terrified of what he was suggesting so freely. Her eyes left his gaze that held hers in an invisible shackle and dropped to the scroll. With trembling hands, she unrolled it, and the details brought a thin film of tears across her eyes.

She slumped back into the chair, and her mouth trembled. She found it difficult to speak. "What is this? Where did you find this? Sakura can't—she'll never—" she fumbled with words and put her hand to her breast, and her heart throbbed painfully.

"She has been working for him for about two years—passing on information concerning my brother. A hopeful lover . . . that is all she is. A scorned woman. Well, I will show her scorn," he said a little disdainfully, looking back at her sorrowful and shocked eyes. The intensity in the red there, in his eyes, was something else. She had never seen it before, and it chilled her to her bones.

Tsunade finally found her wind, her bosom moving with deep breaths. "What does this have anything to do with Danzō asking for an inquiry now?" she asked and rose to her feet. They shook with emotions that stirred in her heart and mind.

Itachi clenched his jaws. A small muscle twitched close to his nose, and he spoke, his tone still so frosty: "Sasuke has left home. He was angry with me. I spent the entire night and all morning looking for him around the borders close to Waves and Rain villages. I do not know where he is—I cannot find him. This came in not long after he left my office in anger. No one knew he would leave home. This miraculously appeared just in the nick of time. But, oh," he paused and took in a long breath, and his mouth showed a sweet curl of contempt, "your student trained to become a Sensor. She so adores to pursue my brother. Distance matters little to her. It all fits so perfectly. Her foolish mind is hardly a puzzle. Who knows what she has in store for you, following the orders of a madman in the shadows."

She hunched her shoulders and circled her arms around herself as if she was cold and tired. Her eyes roamed all over the room. Anxiety was etched in her face. "Danzō must've put her up to this. She would never betray me. She would never hurt Sasuke. She—she adores your brother," she said and looked him in the eye, beseeching him to calm his anger.

"I do not care what she adores, guided by her lust for him and nothing more. That despicable girl is conspiring with Root to trap him in some elaborate scheme. I can easily pluck things out of her head and give her the punishment she deserves. It would be so easy for me," he said, his tone hard and firm. "Your higher-ups claimed half of my kin over an accusation, and now they are after my brother? I put that aside years ago for this village, but my flesh and blood? I will not stand for it."

"Are you blackmailing me? You want time, is that it?" she asked, changing her tone into that of persuasion. She approached him. His cold words resounded in her head, making her steps wobbly, unsteady. When he remained silent, she spoke again: "I'll help you and buy you some time. Just don't hurt Sakura. She's young and naïve. I can't allow you do that, Itachi. I won't! Danzō's must have trapped her somehow. I'll get to the bottom of this without arousing her suspicions. You have my word."

He bent his head down and let her see and feel the sharp glare of his murderous eyes. "You better pray I find him soon, and she is not involved in this mystery. Or I will make her taste her own medicine—let the black flames of her selfish hatred lick at her body till nothing of her remains. If I find that anyone was involved in this, and if something, _anything_ , happens to my brother, I will grant them no quarter. And I will reserve remorse for another eternity. You have not seen my anger yet," he whispered coldly in her face, his eyes tinged mad-red, and he gave the look that he meant what he said. When his hot breath hit her, it stabbed at her skin.

Tsunade raised her hand and parted her lips to speak but nothing came out. He left just as quickly as he had come; and she just stood there silently, sobbing in agony . . .

# # # # # #

The whole afternoon had gone by as he gave chase to his brother. He went from border to border and looked inside dark caves and places he knew from his travels as a Captain—dirty inns and small villages. It was all for nothing. It was as if earth had swallowed him. He had simply vanished. Last time, when Sasuke went away over an argument, he was easy to find. He left small clues, marks of his presence. He wanted Itachi to find him.

Not this time. He was like a ghost now that left nothing behind for Itachi's eyes to see. He really did not want to be found. His crows flew north and south, east and west. They were just as hasty to find him as he was. He had been using his Mangekyō Sharingan for more than twenty hours with no rest. It had taken such a toll on his mind and body.

He felt the rise in mild heat around him, and the sea of fog dispersed. He was a wanderer in its vast ghostly shape—lost and sad. Night was gone, a sober traveller. When he lifted his dimming eyes to the changing sky, dawn set the dusky cover ablaze. A new morn broke out on the dark forest at the outskirts of a village close to the Land of Waves, and Sasuke was still missing. The rays shimmered on the branches left dry and withering by autumn. They had little life in them now.

The fever, it was burning his whole body with such exquisite intensity now. It burnt in his limbs, and his skin tingled under the floating drops of mist. They slid down his shivering arms that were left bare below the elbows, and he hissed with pain. Relying on his Sharingan so much was killing him. Mangekyōs were terrible allies: they took the light away for months and punished the body when called upon for use more than once. It was a price Uchihas had to pay for such an awesome power. His beloved brother was eternally free from such punishments.

Itachi steadied himself beside a tree. His fingers trembled upon the rough bark. His eyes stubbornly looked through his crows. Four of them flew across the borders, and Sasuke was nowhere in sight. Kai and Serizawa stood about sixty feet behind him. Kai had put a few animals under Genjutsu. It was his speciality. He used them for infiltration. They could not be kept under Genjutsu to do his bidding for more than a few hours. Sharingan proved too much for their fragile minds, and they always died so brutally, bleeding to death from their nostrils, eyes, and ears. It was a classic case of brain haemorrhaging.

Serizawa extended his Sharingan's field of vision through Sensing. He could see in one direction for about five kilometres. All Sharingans had an ability to look far off into the distance, but it did not extend beyond a few hundred meters. It was an ability he developed for himself. He was Itachi's assistant like Kai. Both of them were highly skilled, trained ninjas. They were privy to almost everything that went on in the clan and between the brothers. They were the secret keepers of their Clan—trustworthy and infallible to their cores. They were loyal men.

The hypnotized bird in the sky suddenly stalled from a great height and plummeted to a gruesome death some hundred kilometres away. Kai saw the whole thing: the ground grew bigger and bigger, and suddenly, it went dark. He blinked. His heart skipped a beat. It was always ghastly to look through their eyes just before they died. The dimming light and the soul escaping their bodies . . . it always chilled him.

He looked at Serizawa who turned off his Sharingan and shook his head, disappointed. Kai turned his eyes to Itachi. He had his back to them with his hand still upon the tree. His head tilted up as though he was fascinated by the autumn flowers blossoming on the rough barks. A deep frown appeared on Kai's forehead, and he returned his eyes back to Serizawa. "Sasuke's such a handful," he said lowly and crossed his arms.

Serizawa made a _tsking_ sound and shook his head. "Not this again. Can't you let this go?" he said and half-turned to look behind his back at Itachi: he had been standing silently for a whole hour now.

"Let this go? Itachi-Sama will become the Clan's Head soon. The ceremony's not far. Yet he hardly has time for anyone beyond Sasuke's foolish behaviour. This is not the way to behave when he knows his older brother has a responsibility to the Clan," he said, wearing an annoyed look on his face. "He does this _all_ the time. When will this end?"

Serizawa stepped closer. "Why do you even care? It's between them. And I am quite fond of our young cousin. He's just rash and moody. Heck, we all have our faults. It's not a big deal. Let's not pretend you are some Sage incarnate, Kai. Your self-important attitude shocks me sometimes," he said and wiped his face with his hand. Morning mist-drops covered his face and shone in the morning light. He looked like some strange-looking divine creature before Serizawa.

"Oh? You liked it when he hit you with a Chidori? You're too kind to him," he said, his voice stubborn, and his face gave the same impression.

"Like I said, we all have our faults. It was a very low-powered Chidori. It's not like it hurt me. Even the burns were so mild. All it took was a cheap balm from the store to heal them in an hour. He simply knocked me out. And where are you taking this anyway?" he asked and stole a quick glance at Itachi.

"Between you and me," he began and lowered his voice, "I wish Sasuke doesn't come back at all. Then we can finally get past this and move on. I'm tired of this—I'm tired of Sasuke."

"Are you mad?" he hissed in retort and his face became hard. "I really wish you had kept this to yourself. Do you really think Itachi-Sama would be in a right state of mind if something happened to Sasuke? I can't believe you're this foolish."

Kai gave a slight tilt of his head to Itachi. "He'll move on. He knows he has a big responsibility towards his own people. You're not looking at the big picture here," he said and fell silent.

"Are you?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He looked positively shocked. "Itachi-Sama's a cold-hearted, ruthless man with little compassion. Time's changed him. It changes all of us. It's have made him hard. The only person that keeps him grounded, human is Sasuke. I don't want a leader like that who has a heart made of stone. And if you dropped that foolishness for just a moment, then you'll see value in my words as well."

"Sasuke's not his only family. They still have a grandmother. Surely, you are—"

"You don't understand, do you?" Serizawa cut him off. "I'm willing to pluck my eyes out of my head and spend my life as a blind man if he isn't driven mad by Sasuke's death. He would never survive it. He brought him up as if he was his own child. You grossly underestimate Sasuke's value in his eyes. You always have, and I am shocked you don't see it."

Kai stared at him. He was at loss for words. Their conversation never made it to Itachi's ears. His senses had greatly diminished. His whole body shook and convulsed. "Sasuke, how do I find you? Why don't you come home?" he whispered in a shaky voice. He was distressed and aggrieved beyond measure for his wayward brother. His body was just on the verge of a breakdown.

His vision blurred suddenly and all of his crows disappeared; and before he could steady himself to preserve his dignity, he fell down onto his knees and slumped back against the tree. His eyes were bleeding, and he breathed loudly with his eyes upon the bleeding sky. He was simply staring up with his head tipped back—delirious. Kai and Serizawa shouted his name, but he could hardly hear their voices.

"Sui-Suigetsu—c-call him—" he barely managed and gripped Serizawa's arm tightly as he sat beside him. He curled an arm behind Itachi's back to pull him forward.

"Itachi-Sama, take it easy. You haven't eaten anything or taken a drop of water for almost three days. You're over-using your Mangekyō. Please, get some rest—you need it," Kai said and looked at Serizawa for some support.

"He's right, Itachi-Sama," he broke off, looking from the blood that fell from Itachi's reddened lips to his dimming vision, "get some rest. You don't have to worry. I'm making three Kage-Bunshins to scout out the areas close to Sound village. Kai can cover the borders next to Sand. The birds will cover the areas quickly."

"No, I-I have to—" he stopped to inhale sharply as he tried to get up, "Sasuke, where—where— " He could not quite complete his sentence. He tried to get up, but his head suddenly fell forward, and he could not arouse himself this time.

"Itachi-Sama!" Kai shouted and leant towards him. He looked to Serizawa, his eyes widening.

"It's all right. He's just fainted," he said and put his hand against his forehead. "He's burning. It's no use. We _have_ to take him back to Konoha. Sage knows what will happen to him if he keeps this up. I don't even want to think about it."

Kai looked back at him, his face turning hesitant. "He'll be furious when he wakes up," he said and put Itachi's limp arm over his shoulders.

"Let's just leave our Kage-Bunshins here. I don't want to waste time. Sasuke needs to be found. Sage knows what those snakes want with him and the Clan again," he said and opened the buckles of Itachi's jacket. He pulled it away from his body to let the cold air hit his skin beneath the drenched shirt. "He would move on if Sasuke died, huh, Kai?" he asked, flashing his meaningful eyes to Kai.

Kai averted his eyes and did not say anything . . .

# # # # # #

Sasuke took a few more steps. Then he suddenly stopped and looked back at Karin. "Are you coming?" He seemed irritated. Night was nearly upon them, and they had yet to find the second hideout. The first one turned out to be a waste.

Her pink mouth curled into a leer. "I'd _really_ love to come on your hand and face—all day long," she rasped and licked her lips.

He wiped at his face and pulled the cowl back. His face was rigid. "This is the umpteenth time you've said that—mature," he said with irritation and started walking again.

"Dear Sage, you're so uptight. Hey, wait up!" she called out and broke into a jog. "We'll find it, a'right? You're so mean, Sasuke. The things I do for you and I hardly get anything out of it." She skipped a step and tried to match his long stride. She was not a very tall woman.

"You mean you get paid?" he said without looking at her. His lips elongated into a thin line.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. And look—" she stopped and paused in her steps, "—we just walked around in a circle." She scowled and pursed her lips to look up at him.

He stopped, too, and then walked to the right and sat down on a fallen tree. "I can see that guardian-deity statue. I'm not blind. I needed to double-check if we missed anything," he said and took out the map from a bag hanging from his shoulder.

Karin followed him and stood by the lopsided, withered deity statue just close to his feet. "Sasuke, I'm tired. Look at the sky. It's almost night and it might rain, too. I can hardly sense anything beyond a kilometre. I need to rest and so do you."

"Why are you so irritated? You knew this would be hard. I didn't force you to come with me," he said and shook the map to smooth out the crinkles in the paper.

"Well, sleeping in a guest room in your manor for a whole month and not getting laid would do that to any woman," she scoffed and fingered her glasses.

"If we find that hideout, I can remedy that," he said and looked to her with a smile on his face.

"Hah! That's what you said last time and I don't remember you keeping your promise!" she said in a mean cold voice. "You might find some time for me if you stopped fucking that floozy. Still a damned Genin, isn't she? She's so stupid, honestly. No wonder Hiashi threw her out." She put her hands on her hips in a huff.

A husky chuckle burst from Sasuke's lips, and he rolled up the map. "You're so angry today. I told you, I haven't gone near her since last week. There was no need for me to," he said with a reassuring look on his face. He got to his feet and looked up at the angry clouds. His cloak flapped behind him. The wind was blowing fast and hard now.

Karin snatched the map from his hand and unrolled it. "Look, there's an inn nearby and I'm going," she said with finality and rolled up the scroll.

"Karin, we have to—" he broke off as the rain came pouring down on them.

Karin yelped and jumped under his waterproof cloak. "Come on, please, Sasuke," she pleaded in a childish tone and curled her arms around his waist.

"Damn it—fine," he said with resignation and started walking with Karin clinging to him under his long cloak.

When they made it to the inn, a plump woman at the reception gave him _the_ look. He disregarded her rude expression. "Two rooms," he said and heard a moan of disapproval from Karin behind him.

"No empty rooms, young man. Just one," she spoke with her mouth full. She was chewing on something.

"I'll take it," he said and took the key from her stubby hand. Her nails were painted in the most bizarre colour patterns. The woman, whom he assumed to be a landlady, pointed to a room down the corridor to the left. When he reached the door, he opened the flower-shaped padlock and slid it open. It was a nice room: two futons were placed close to each other upon the wooden floor, and a wooden dresser sat at the other corner—the mirror on it was clean.

Karin laughed and ran into the room. She threw herself on the futon and spread her legs and arms wide like a child. He shook his head a little and threw her a smile and closed the door behind him. She propped her head in her hand and rested her elbow on a pillow.

"Sasuke, when we find him, can we go back? You don't need to stay away from Konoha after that, right?" she asked, looking serious.

"I'm not going back. I'm done with Konoha, with Nii-Sama, with everyone there. Suigetsu and Jūgo will find me soon. I'm not . . . I'm not going back," he said and his mouth looked hard. It was turned down in a look of mild anger.

"Your brother, he—" she stopped, trying to say what she wanted to, "—this isn't fair to him."

"Fair? He has done everything he can to humiliate me and cut my paths. I'm done with him and his games. He can weep now. This is what he wanted, isn't it? He always wanted me gone. I was always a burden to him. Well, he can live happily now—be a Head and all that. I don't give a damn about his ego," he bit out harshly.

"Sasuke," Karin began in shock and sat up straight, "you don't mean that . . . "

Sasuke looked at her with anger on his face. He remained silent and turned his head away.

"This isn't fair to him. He must be worried _sick_ about you. I know what he does isn't fair, but he's trying to protect you in his own way. He doesn't want you to be branded as a traitor. He adores you so much. He would never want that. Sasuke, you . . . you're not being fair to him—or yourself. Just think over it. That's all I'm saying," she said softly and fell silent, her eyes downcast.

Sasuke breathed out a loud sigh, and his hard eyes softened. He took off his cloak and threw it on the floor. Then he climbed onto the futon next to her. He felt Karin throw her arms around his waist, her mouth hard against his throat, but he did not say anything to push her away.

When morning came he could tell that the landlady was not happy. She had this big frown on her fat face, and she kept mumbling about taboos, shame, and horny-customers. Perhaps it was because Karin was uncharacteristically wild and loud, or that he had shouted that there was still a damned zipper on his pants when she got too excited. He gave her the money and left with a chirpy Karin with him. It was easy to lift her spirits and mood.

They made their way to the next hideout: it was located on an island beyond the Land of Waves. Fishermen had abandoned their boats; tides were high and winds strong. They went into the thick forest. The branches swayed, and trees moved back and forth, thrashing like fish caught in a net.

Karin was still Sensing, and he had his Sharingan out. A little rest really did them good. They walked and walked, crossed streams swollen by rains, their steps firm against the wind blowing at them. They went beyond the blanket of storm clouds overhead and came across a vast forest; it was calm under the drizzle.

Sasuke jumped down from a cliff with Karin behind him. When he leapt down, her eyes stretched as if she saw a ghost. "Sasuke, there's someone with a really large chakra running south. He's fast. It could be him!" she said and made a surprised sound when he grabbed her and started running.

He ran so fast with her in his arms. He knew she was too slow to follow him. All she saw was a blur of colours. He closed the vast distance between them in two beats, allowing his Sharingan to track him down. There was no need for her Sensing now. He ran and ran, following him like a hawk, with his keen eyes on the chakra in the large man's body—even his sword.

At last, he jumped into a clearing just behind a group of small, treacherous mountains. But it was not much of any task for his chakra control to create a footing for himself on their slippery surface. A waterfall was behind him, which created a loud gurgling sound that filled his ears. He set Karin down and took out his sword.

In the next moment, a tall—very tall—man appeared from the shadows in the mouth of the cave. His skin had a strange blue colour, and his teeth were small and pointy. He could easily count them all in his broad mischievous smile. He gave Sasuke the impression of a predatory shark. He held a puffer-fish-like large sword in his hand.

He chuckled and sat down on a pile of rocks and leant the sword against his right knee, his small eyes upon him. "Littlest Uchiha, you have grown," he said and there was an unmistakable smile in his rough voice.

"You," Sasuke spoke in the grip of shock and surprise, "you're Kisame . . . "

The man only chuckled in response . . .

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	36. A Man Called Kisame

**Chapter Thirty-Six** : A Man Called Kisame

 **Canon-Manga Info** : Kurama stated that Sasuke's chakra is extremely potent. It's been mentioned and implied quite a few times in the manga.

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He let out a wheezing chuckle that turned into a dry laugh. There was just something about the young Uchiha before him that was so amusing. He chose not to share his thoughts. He spat at the stones to the right, his white eyes shining against the cold light of day. His blue skin was slick—almost wet.

Sun shone on that skin and into his eyes like a cheap yellow light from an old bulb. He narrowed his small eyes, and the gashes around his eyes contracted. A realization sent a quick wave of disgust through Sasuke: those were gills!

"Like what you see, littlest Uchiha?" Kisame asked and barked with laughter. The gills around his eyes fluttered. Sasuke had never seen anything like him—It? He could not really understand what he was.

The sword by his feet wriggled and grinned. Its pointy teeth were big, shiny, and dangerous. It swelled out and snapped its big mouth towards Sasuke, licking the borders he thought to be its lips. It was like a big puffer-fish pulled straight out of water.

"Samehada, is it?" Sasuke asked and looked curiously at the sword that slithered a little to the left and a little to the right. It seemed impatient.

"I hope the littlest Uchiha didn't come here to make a pitch for Suigetsu. He can be so vulgar with his swords," Kisame said, the smile firm on his face.

"Sasuke," Sasuke said and crossed his arms, his brow frowning.

Samehada let out a low sound and deflated. Kisame petted it and it went completely still. "A'right, I'll call you little Sasuke," he said, turning his eyes to him. "Is that fine?"

Sasuke let out a small sigh but did not press him anymore. "You know why I'm here?" he asked, and a dark look came into his eyes.

"I know . . . " he paused, looking at him as though he was deep in thought, " . . . do you want to know everything? Truth can be a bad thing, a huge burden, little Sasuke. Don't ever forget that."

A look of confusion flickered across Sasuke's face. "I don't think there's any time for riddles—and I don't believe it was a coincidence that you made yourself known to me through Karin. You're not a Sensor. Suigetsu told me as much. Is it the sword? I've heard some strange stories about it. But stories are . . . stories," he said and brought his gaze upon the sword that lay slumbering by Kisame's feet now.

Kisame gave a few rough chuckles, his white eyes upon him, and there was something in them that made him afraid. How much did he know?

"Clever little Sasuke. Everyone must be proud— _especially_ your brother. Yes, Samehada found you. It likes strong chakra and yours is one of a kind—so powerful, tasty, and tempting." He stroked his fingers against a long spike jutting out of Samehada's back, and it vibrated against his finger like a common cat, almost purring at the contact.

"Is Itachi-San still in Anbu? I heard he has quite the hold over Konoha now. He can be a scary man. With all the resources he has, I'm surprised he hasn't found you yet," he said and bared his pointy teeth in a grotesque smile. "Ran away from home, didn't you, little Sasuke? Wouldn't he be worried _sick_!"

The way his jaws jutted out, he looked just like a shark—a predator. "How do you know my brother? If you came here to play games—" he broke off, anger rushing through him.

"No, no, little Sasuke. I don't know him personally. I may have seen him way back in the past. He was a youngling then. His limbs had yet to develop. His bones were too long for that body. He wasn't a man, but not a small boy, either. But he was so tough, so cold—yet, so selfish, so soft. Such strange odd boy," he said in amusement, his words breaking into a humorous laugh, ". . . some things just make us like that." He tilted his head a little and cracked his neck from left to right.

"What are you—"

"Time's a wasting, little Sasuke. Mist guards were looking in these forests. I'll have to leave through the Land of Rivers' border soon," he said and tightened his fingers around the hilt of that odd sword.

"I laid a few traps about five kilometres away. I'll go and trigger them myself if someone approaches this area. There's only one way out of here—the other one's through the water. You'll just have to swim fast," he said and flicked his head to indicate that Karin was still Sensing.

"An Uzumaki girl under your wing," he said, smiling that hideous smile of his. "The little Uchiha is clever."

"You were a part of the Tulip Squad Elite from the start. What do you know about the massacre?" he asked. There was no need to beat around the bush.

"From the start? That's a bold claim, little Sasuke," he said, his eyes on Sasuke's confused face. When the Sasuke did not say anything, he continued: "it was never Tulip Squad way back when I was recruited. They called it the Mist Elite Force. Two groups. Two tiers. Five or six men each. Most of 'em died—killed by higher-ups, or the missions killed them. It was always the same. Old tools were thrown out. New tools were brought in. The squad kept going." The smile slid from his face. He looked serious now, almost sober.

There was a note of bitterness in his voice, and Sasuke understood: they chased after him like hungry hounds. He hid wherever he could and survived on scraps. He was trying hard to get back to his old life—when there must have been calm, a little peace for him. An elite ninja reduced to this? A part of him pitied the fate Mist handed to him.

Kisame pulled in a loud breath, and his shoulders dropped as though he was tired of all the running. "About twenty years ago, before you were born, most elite members of the Squad were hired to get a rare pair of eyes from somewhere around hidden Waterfall Village," he said, his eyes growing bigger and bigger, the elastic skin around his eyes stretching the gills into deep, straight lines in his face.

"You were not a part of the top Elite?" Sasuke asked, shock creeping over his white face.

"No," he said, "but they were good men—just Shinobi doing their jobs. Yagura was a young leader then. Only fifteen. The village had nothing but money. Everyone was a rich bastard, but money can't make a good army. You need more for that. That made him afraid. Paranoid. He wanted power to rule, but he didn't have any. He found out through Hōzuki Sosuke about that place—a place that hid their ticket to form an alliance with Danzō and Konoha Elite. Those rare eyes . . . only you Uchiha are gifted with them." He slowly shifted his gaze to the red pulsing in Sasuke's eyes.

"A Sharingan? Somewhere around Waterfall village?" he asked, finding it hard to speak. Emotions burst forth upon his face through his eyes, and he could not quite contain them. He was shocked.

"Yes, a very rare pair of Mangekyō. Suigetsu's father knew where they were hidden. He led them there and found another scroll—something of great value to the eyes. All Yagura needed was a buyer," he said with a smile on his face.

"Danzō . . . Mangekyō Sharingan . . . " Sasuke whispered, talking to himself. It made no sense. Why would Danzō want a Mangekyō Sharingan? His eyes roved around the area and stopped on the sword for just a brief moment before he returned them to Kisame's face.

"But being young . . . well," he paused and let out a dry laugh, "he was desperate and he was stupid. Everyone knows how shady that Root bastard is. Only Danzō could get Yagura what he wanted. So he approached the Root's Head through Suigetsu's father, Sosuke, and made a proposition. All they had to do was relinquish Three-Tails, an Uzumaki seal to contain it, some money, and Byakugans—and the eyes, and that scroll, would be theirs."

"It was with Konoha back then?" Sasuke asked and his face betrayed everything he felt. There was no point in guarding his emotions now. His charades were not needed today, not now.

"Konoha's lobby sat on quite a few of them. They were bartered for money and Jutsus. Your village has always been greedy," he rasped in a rough voice. "Some Uzumaki woman made the seal. We all sat down in Mist when the moon was high. And it was such a cold autumn night. Danzō, Minato, Hiashi, and the surviving members of the Elite—we were all there. Yagura's reign was ensured. The new power made it possible. He was so happy then—the stupid kid."

"How did Danzō convince Hiashi and Minato? Those eyes never belonged to them. They were _my_ Clan's. They had no right," he grated in a loud voice. His breaths came out heavy and hard. His mouth contorted in anger. He was livid.

"Wars weakened these two clans. Hyūga were but a shadow of their former selves and Namikaze were left with but a few heirs. Minato was one of them," he said with an ugly grin pasted on his face and continued, "Hyūgas were poor. They never could get out of that rut, but Minato was rich. They gave what Yagura asked—eyes for the Elite and money to make a new alliance. An alliance between the Head of the Hyūga Clan, Namikaze, the shady scum of Root, and the power-hungry kid, Yagura."

Shock came over Sasuke's face and he opened his trembling mouth to speak: "the Tulip Squad . . . " It was as if his breaths suddenly left him. Streaks of heat went straight to his heart and it pained him. It was burning with hatred. They were all in on it all along—every single one of them!

A loud peal of laughter burst from Kisame's breast. "So clever, little Uchiha. I like your nimble mind," he said with a note of laughter in his voice. "Yes, the Tulip Squad was an alliance. It ensured Yagura's reign and gave Hiashi and Minato a lot of financial security. They were given special posts in the Squad, and they carried out Espionage missions from time to time. Imagine, an alliance between Mist and Root—it was such a powerful thing. But, alas, it was just not meant to be."

"Did something—"

"Sasuke, some ninjas are approaching this area and fast," Karin cut Sasuke off loudly, "they're about thirty kilometres away."

Kisame stood up from his perch and held the sword's hilt tightly in his hand. He looked at Sasuke with an odd expression; he was waiting for him to make a decision.

His eyes were still upon Kisame, his mind racing. When he did not respond, she spoke again, in a louder voice: "Sasuke!"

"Damn it," he hissed and clenched his jaws together. It was no use. He looked over to Kisame who was smiling at him. "Go—I'll trigger the trap and buy you some time. And don't tell me your next location. I'll find you myself."

Kisame narrowed his glassy eyes upon him. He was still wearing that meaningful smile and Sasuke felt like . . . he knew him, somehow. "Good luck, littlest Uchiha. Don't make your brother worry. He can get _so_ sad without you," he said and turned around, and before Sasuke could ask him any more, he vanished.

"Stay here and keep Sensing," he said and vanished in the direction of the traps.

It took him a couple of seconds to cover the distance. The wind was cool upon his skin. His heart could not find its right pace, but now was not the time to worry. He stopped before the string buried under the mud. Sun had made the ground a bit hard. He pulled at it and sent a spark of current that travelled like a ripple through the moisture on the ground. It triggered several explosives some five kilometres away.

Then Sasuke rushed back to Karin. They had to make it out before someone sensed his Chakra; it was too powerful to be veiled by such a small distance. He did not stop running. He grabbed her and took a long leap into the ravine. Karin let out a loud scream. They were falling down and down at an immense speed. Then, suddenly, his hand shot out and threw a string towards a thick root jutting out of the rocks. It broke their fall and allowed him to swing across another gorge that opened up into an underground lake; his cloak flew behind him like wings.

His feet finally found purchase upon the ground. He went skidding to the right and ran some more to increase the gap between those men and himself. At last, he stopped when they came upon a thicket of trees. He put Karin down—whose mouth was still open in a silent scream, and her hair was tousled. He looked up towards the mountain that stood proudly under the sun. It was a hasty scramble to make it down in one piece, but they had left the clearing some fifteen kilometres behind them . . .

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Serizawa slid open the door, and his gaze fell down to Itachi lying beneath the sheets. A look of distress was plastered on Itachi's sweaty face. His breaths were shallow. A thin film of sweat covered his face and breast. Kai was trying to bring the fever down with cold cloths placed on his breast, neck, and forehead.

Kai raised his eyes to look at Serizawa's tense face. "What did she say?" he asked and put a hot cloth back into the pail of cold water.

Serizawa quietly closed the door and sat down cross-legged beside him. "Two days," he said and looked at the autumn moth sneaking in through the tear in the window screen; it loved the purple glow of the lantern sitting beside Itachi.

"What? That means . . . " his voice trailed off. A look of shock and surprise came to his face.

"Yes, only two days are left. And Itachi-Sama is still so ill. She can't do much. The Elders are with Danzō. And he isn't there to vote in his brother's favour," he said in a low voice, stretching his hand to wipe away a bloody tear moving down Itachi's cheek.

Silence. It was not the peaceful kind but the deafening and painful sort. They could hear the flutters of the moth's delicate wings. The discordant sounds of Itachi's breaths and the wings . . . it felt eerie to their ears.

"We can wake him up," Kai suggested, "push a little chakra into his temples to soothe his eyes. He has been out since yesterday. It will be night soon. There's no telling when he'll come to. It might be too late when he does. He won't forgive us. He'll _never_ forgive us if something happens to Sasuke." He looked at Serizawa fearfully.

"There's no need. Suigetsu will be back by nightfall. Sasuke only sent him away for two days. Let's wait," he said and touched Itachi's wrist to check his pulse and fever. The heat of his fever had cooled down just a bit. Even his pulse was a little steady, but it was far too soon.

"Aren't you the one who told me to take Sasuke seriously? Are you in a mood to abandon him now? I don't understand you, Serizawa," he said and gazed at the flutter of Itachi's lashes. His eyes moved left and right rapidly: he was dreaming.

"Of course I'd never want that," he said and leant forward, "but there's no point in waking him up now. He is ill and he is weak. At the rate he was going, he would've gotten blind for months. He would've put himself into a coma. Who would've protected us all, then? Protected Sasuke? No one. It's all right to sacrifice a day or two."

"You believe in small sacrifices, do you?" Kai asked and pulled out the wet cloth from the pail. He wrung it out and put it on the side of Itachi's neck.

"I do. We can still push chakra into his temples and give him herbs to soothe his eyes. It would bring the fever down faster. It shouldn't take more than a few hours. And by the time he wakes up, his eyes will be good as new," he said and grabbed the moth from the lamp. It struggled between his fingers.

"He _will_ be furious. Don't say I didn't warn you," Kai muttered and grabbed another cloth from Itachi's breast.

"Isn't he always?" he said with an amused chuckle. "He's human. He's also young. Worry just made him a little hasty. That's the part of him I want. As long as he maintains a balance, between this side of himself and the cold other, he'll become a great leader for our people. The kind we need."

Kai looked at him and the moth still caught between his fingers. There was a reassuring smile on Serizawa's face. It was a mild smile, and he returned it with a pleasant one of his own.

The sky was in the grasp of night and angry clouds. Thunder roared like a ravening beast, marking its territory. Itachi was left alone to sleep peacefully. His fever had broken; his heart was steady; he dreamt. The persistent sounds of thunder invaded his thoughts and plucked a memory from his childhood.

It was a night like this. The sky was no less angry. He slept peacefully in his room. He sat up with a start when he felt a small body shivering under the kakebuton with him. He pulled the kakebuton up and found Sasuke rolled up into a ball next to his leg.

"Sasuke, what's wrong?" he asked and pushed the kakebuton back. Sasuke lifted his head up, his eyes big and wide. He let out a little squeak when thunder shook the whole room. He buried his face in the kakebuton again, and his eyes closed tightly.

"Nii-San, I hate lightning. I hate thunder," he said, his voice muffled by the futon.

Itachi smiled and crossed his legs. He lifted Sasuke up by the arms and sat the child on his lap and held him that way. He poked his forehead and spoke: "it's so late. I have a mission tomorrow. Okā-San will be so angry if she finds you in my room. You've five and a big boy now. Isn't that what you told me last time when you requested for your own room?"

Lightning flashed, and before the rumbling sound of thunder came to them from across the sky, Sasuke pressed his hands against his ears and narrowed his eyes. His mouth pursed in concentration, and half of his upper body jerked forward when the roaring sound echoed through the house. "See, Nii-San, see? It's so scary. What if it falls down on my head?" he shouted over the long, crashing sound of thunder.

"Lightning?" Itachi asked and brushed Sasuke's messy hair away from his forehead.

"Yes! Thunder can't fall down on my head like that," he said in a small voice and stood up on his lap, his head barely making it to Itachi's forehead. He was still so small.

"Lightning won't hit you. It's just an electrostatic discharge, remember? It can't just come inside the house," he said with a smile.

Sasuke frowned in response, making a face as if his brother was not taking him seriously. Then a smile broke out on his face, and he looked back at him. "Can you teach me, Nii-San?" he asked and sat back down again.

"Teach you what?" Itachi tilted his head a little and leant forward to pull the kakebuton over Sasuke's legs.

"Raiton, Nii-San," he said, "Shisui told me that I can make one when I grow up. Will you, Nii-San? Will you?" He pulled at Itachi's shirt. He did not know what to say in response.

"Shisui-San. You can't call older people by their names like that. It's not polite. You're a good boy, aren't you?" he corrected him in a kind voice. "Sasuke, I don't have a Raiton affinity. I can't teach that to you."

"Okay," he said in a low voice and bent his head down. He looked sad.

"But I can teach you Chakra-Control. You can learn anything with that. I promise you," he said and poked Sasuke's forehead again when he created a big smile on his small face. His plump cheeks were rosy-red. He was happy.

Itachi directed his eyes to the door when he heard soft steps on the other side. Not a second later, Mikoto slid open the door. A little light from the lantern in the corridor leaked into the room. "Sasuke, are you still bothering your brother? He has a mission tomorrow. If thunder still frightens you, then you can come and sleep with me. Come on, let your brother get some rest," she said with her hands on her hips. She looked a little angry.

Sasuke let out a small protesting sound and mumbled something incoherent. He frowned with a pout on his lips and slid further down under the kakebuton to cover his face. Itachi smiled down at him and then looked at his mother. "It's all right, Okā-San. He can sleep with me," he said and curled an arm around Sasuke's back.

"Itachi, you're spoiling him," she sighed out and put her hand to her cheek. "Fine. But he's not going to learn to sleep alone if you keep coddling him." With that, she left the room.

Sasuke jumped up and hugged Itachi. "Nii-San, I love you. Tell me a story. The last one. You didn't finish it," he said and sat down, his big eyes fixed upon Itachi's face.

"Well, Kirin could tame lightning. He was brilliant, but he was impatient. He was also rash . . . " his soft words fell upon Sasuke's ears. He listened to him eagerly. Those were the days. They were young and so in love with the idea that one would always protect the other.

A flash of lighting and a loud bang of thunder . . . and Itachi's eyes fluttered open. With the lantern still lit, the details of the room swam into view. He sat up straight and buried his face in his hands. His eyes did not pain him any longer. His fever was gone. He felt a little weak, but that was expected.

When Itachi moved his eyes, he found the room empty. A cool wind snuck in through the tear in the partition screen. The winds had not been kind to it. As he pulled back his hands, his eyes fell upon the autumn moth moving on the white sheets. He put his fingers in its path and it climbed on his hand.

He brought his hand close to his face, his thoughts elsewhere. Lightning flashed again and he spoke, as if still caught in the delicate web of his powerful memories: "does lightning still frighten you, Sasuke?"

And somewhere far away, Sasuke sat close to the mouth of the cave. He moved his fingers and watched the current jump from one hand to the other with such delight. He looked up and saw the ferocious lightning fall down not far from him. A resounding roar shook him to his bones. He touched the ground with his fingers, and like starving snakes slithering across the ground, the charge ran towards his hand and he soaked it up.

"You don't frighten me anymore. I've tamed you," he whispered, and there was a bold smile on his young face . . .

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	37. Brother, I Hide, You Go Seek

**Chapter Thirty-Seven** : Brother, I Hide, You Go Seek

 **Warning** : This chapter contains a strange sort of sexual, morbid humour. Also, this is the first and last warning of this kind.

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Suigetsu walked into Itachi's office. He had a big grin on his face that was met with such an uncaring look from Itachi. He sat behind his large office table. The harsh morning light made his white skin appear a little sallow and accentuated the hollows of his eyes. He looked a little ill. Everything was still so neatly arranged on his table that it made Suigetsu flinch: the man was a bit obsessed with perfection.

"'Am right here, boss. Ya have been so pushy. Did ya miss me?" he asked and put his hands behind his head.

Kai frowned at his comment and Serizawa gave a smile. Itachi did not look any less frigid. He remained silent for few moments, looking at Suigetsu with mild interest in his face. "Leave. Both of you. I need to speak with this man," he said and waited for both of them to leave.

Suigetsu twisted his head to look back as the door closed with a click behind him. He brought his eyes back to Itachi; the light made sharp and apparent the angles of his face. He looked . . . so young without that visage of arrogance he wore daily. In that moment, he had thrown it away. Why? Suigetsu could not really say. The man was strange.

"Where's Sasuke? Was he actin' naughty again? He can be a meanie, too!" he said as Itachi's eyes were only making him feel more uncomfortable.

Itachi narrowed his hard eyes. His face suggested that he was not buying his lies. "That is why I asked you to come. Where is Sasuke?" he asked in a cool voice as he slowly tapped his fingers against the hard wooden surface of the table. That ashen face without emotions, those eyes without a glimmer of softness, and that mouth pressed shut as he worked hard to stop the words from leaving the tip of his cunning tongue.

Suigetsu's smile faded, and his face turned wary. He looked from Itachi's long drumming fingers to his cold-stone face, realizing that he had already punished Sasuke and he left home. "I was on a short leave. Did ya punish him? He didn't run away from home, did he?" he asked and watched as a cold smile broke the hard expression on Itachi's face.

"How touching that you care so much about my brother's wellbeing. Really, I am moved," he said with that ghostly smile still on his lips. "Are you trying to make me feel guilty? Oh, Suigetsu, still so foolish—still the feisty little boy from Rain in tatters. You have not changed much beyond your fancy garb."

"Likewise, I guess. Yor still the same man I knew from way back then. Still so cold, boss. Wouldn't hurtchya to tone it down a bit—for Sasuke, at least. But I know I'm stupid and ya hate my advice, so am just gonna shut my trap," he said in a choked voice and pressed his lips firmly together.

Itachi's narrowed his eyes to thin red slits. He seemed angry. "Where is Sasuke?" he asked again in a heavy voice and Suigetsu's insides filled with dread.

Suigetsu breathed out loudly and lowered his eyes. He counted his racing heartbeats and raised his head to meet Itachi's daemonic red eyes that made him shiver. "I don't know," he said in an uncertain voice. Those eyes were getting to him.

"You do not know? Readymade excuses . . . you just adore them, do you not?" he mocked him in a slow voice, tilting his head just a little like a mannequin made of plaster. His smile barely disturbed the rest of his features. It looked so artificial. So inhuman. It was as though this whole thing was a pretence for him—a game he was loving.

Suigetsu swallowed hard and stared at his hands and feet. Fear gripped him. It was gnawing at his insides like a greedy animal. He held his breath and tried to quiet that speeding heart. It was starting to hurt him. What would he say to him? Genjutsu did not work, but would he be truly safe from Tsukuyomi? The question tumbled in his brain like an annoying disturbance, and his heart skipped beats.

"I-I'm not making excuses," he said and lifted his eyes to look him in the eye. "I really don't know. I swear it."

The cool look faded from Itachi's face. His mouth had that hint of cold anger. The corners of his lips trembled in such an exquisite start to an arrogant smile. "What do you think of me? Do you think of me as a fool?" Itachi asked, that insulting smile full on his white face now.

Suigetsu's face was sweating. His hands were sweating. His feet were sweating. His face was red with emotions and embarrassment. His eyes narrowed on Itachi's face, and then he quickly looked away. He did not know what to say. Itachi was very angry. He looked mad.

"I asked you something, Suigetsu. Do not be disrespectful," he said, maintaining that same intensity in his eyes.

"No," he mumbled and looked back up.

"Fascinating. Then you would know that I am not buying your nasty lies," he said and clenched his jaws together. "What did that stubborn child send you away for? That Missing-Nin business, I am sure. Did he make a permit? I am sure he did. I am not even asking you to tell me anything about that foul business concerning your dearly departed family—I am asking you to tell me where Sasuke asked you to meet him. That is all."

"Konoha," he whispered, taking in a heavy breath. He quickly averted Itachi's gaze when he watched his face change with mild loathing. Itachi's mask was cracked, and there was nothing but contained rage upon his face that was licking at the fake cover before it—dying to get out.

Itachi slapped his hand on the table and stood up in one swift motion that Suigetsu barely saw him move. "Damn you, Suigetsu. I do not have time for your foolishness. Where is my brother?" he asked, his voice colder than he could have imagined. There was a note of threat in his voice, and it was making him afraid; he was afraid of the man he hardly knew.

Suigetsu's breath hissed from his lips, and he stepped back when Itachi approached him with the smooth movement of a predator. "I," he stopped, pulling in a deep, cool breath to calm his heart and nerves, "I don't know. I swear it."

"You _liar_ ," Itachi said in a hissing whisper, towering over him, his eyes hard and murderous—the look in them moulded by anger and impatience that rose from their depths with such force now. It was an uncanny sight. "You love to bite the hand that feeds you. Are you willing to sacrifice my brother, my child, for your own vengeance? Do you really think I will allow you to do so? You underestimate me, you foolish boy."

"Am not lyin'," he answered weakly, and then his voice found the strength to add, "I don't know where he is. Maybe ya shouldn't have punished him if ya didn't want this." And he immediately regretted what he said. Itachi's face was warped with rage. He glared at him coldly, clenching his trembling fingers. He really should not have said that.

"How dare you, you insolent fool," he said venomously, his voice slow and cold, his white teeth bared—his face hard as a rock, and his eyes filled with contempt. The veins on his temple stood out. Suigetsu had never seen him so angry.

"I-I'm sorry. Forgive me—I didn't mean that," he said quickly and took one step back to increase the distance between them. A shocked expression came over his face, and he felt a cold shiver rush down his spine. That was a stupid move.

"I will deal with you later. I need you to tell me the truth, or I will just try Tsukuyomi and see if I can actually pluck something from that feeble mind of yours," he said, pulling out that long Kunai from the sheath behind his back. "Where is he hiding? I will not ask you again."

"Damn it, man, I don't know!" he shouted. "He told me to come back and meet with him here. I had no idea he ran away. He stopped me from even sendin' 'im a message. So I don't know, damn it, I don't know—and I don't know what ya think of me, but I happen ta like Sasuke. He's my friend. I wouldn't sacrifice him for meself. But if it makes ya feel any better then try it on me. Ya will just lose one extra arm ta find him. Don't say I didn't warn ya."

Itachi considered him for a moment, his anger cooling only slightly and sinking to that deep maw inside him. "You think so highly of yourself, it is almost tragic," he said and put his Kunai away. "So you do know where he might be? I only have till nightfall to get him back. This better be worth my time."

"Nightfall? What do ya mean?" he asked, looking surprised.

"An Official Inquiry on the prisoner and Byakugan has been forwarded by the Root's head. There is a hearing tomorrow morning. I asked that woman to buy me time. And she . . . " he paused and took in a deep breath with a soft expression of irritation on his face, " . . . she only made matters worse. She forwarded an application that Sasuke is ill. A Sensor from the Yamanaka Clan will be here by midnight to check him. If he is satisfied, it will be delayed. Are you amused yet?"

"What the fuck?—I mean hell! This is bad—" he said aloud. His eyes were wide open.

"So, you see, I do not really have any more moments to spare for your petty shenanigans. If Sasuke is not home by midnight, he will be declared a Missing-Nin, and—" he stopped and looked away, his voice a little strained with anger.

Suigetsu looked at him intently. There was that same look of ghostly worry flickering across his face again—the same look he saw a few years ago. He took in a few whiffs of air redolent with the fragrance of purple lilies drying in the vase on the corner of Itachi's table. It was a beautiful smell. He breathed in again loudly and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. Sasuke might not forgive him, but this was for his own good.

"I know where he might've gone. But," he broke off, finding it hard to continue, "just don't—don't punish 'im."

"Where?" he asked and turned around to face him fully.

"Somewhere close ta Hidden Waterfalls Village," he said, staring at the sceptical look on Itachi's face. "I'll send in some clones ta the Land of Waves, too. Just in case. And I'll ask Jūgo ta help me. He'll be amassin' Natural Energy in that dark cave up in the mountains. He might even kill me if I go near 'im now. But he'll listen if I tell 'im that Sasuke's in trouble. Karin won't know which bird is followin' his orders, anyway."

"And why is he there?" he asked, and his eyebrows rose up. That hard look was replaced by the same mocking expression now.

"I thought ya didn't want ta waste time, boss?" he said with a bold smile on his face.

Itachi looked at him silently for a few seconds, and then he spoke: "get Jūgo and meet me by the lake in one hour."

Suigetsu nodded and left the office silently. "Scary guy," he muttered when he closed the heavy door of Itachi's office. He looked outside the window of the corridor. The sun was a little red. In a couple of hours, evening would descend upon the village. He had to find Sasuke . . . fast!

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Sun was streaming in through the partition screen, glinting in his black eyes. He took a few sips of sake. It was strong and tasted good. It was a shame how nasty the ones from Konoha tasted. He looked around and found the small restaurant mostly empty. One old man sat several tables across from him, with a group of four other middle-aged men. They were playing checkers.

A drunkard sat slumped by to the door. He was snoozing. His mouth was wide open, and a dribble of saliva hung out from one corner. He mumbled something incoherent and cackled in his sleep. Then he went completely still again. A straw hat hung low over more than half his face, and his legs were spread awkwardly on the wooden floor. He looked very silly.

Sasuke turned his eyes slightly and looked over to Karin who was talking to another woman. He imagined her to be in her early thirties. She was wearing a small amount of traditional makeup around her eyes and on her pretty mouth. Her features were sharp, her neck long and beautiful. She was a very pretty woman.

Karin dragged her to him, and she sat down beside him. "Morinaga-San, I know where the village is," she said, putting her hand before her lips. A red blush burnt her cheeks, and she bit her lower lip to stifle a giggle.

Sasuke brought his eyes on Karin. "Who's she?" he asked and took another sip of the sake.

"Miku," Karin said and snatched the cup from his hand to take a sip. "She was my friend at the Night Flower Village. She knows this area. The village we're looking for is somewhere around the outskirts of Waterfalls Village."

"You can't get to it easily. It's difficult to find," Miku said and clasped her fingers together.

"What do you mean?" Sasuke asked and pulled the cowl over his head when he heard the chimes on the door hit the wall noisily. Another customer walked in and yelled an order as he sat down at a low table. He watched a young woman scramble to the back of the kitchen.

"It's protected by a powerful barrier, and the whirlpools there create a thick mist. The chakra from the barrier blends in with it. It's impossible to see through it. A Sharingan or a Byakugan wouldn't be able to see a thing, either. And one wrong step on those treacherous paths? It's suicide to go there alone without an escort," she said and inched a little closer to touch his shoulder.

"How does a frail girl like you manage it, then? It seems like an impossible task," he said softly and gazed at the delightful laughter well up from the whitest throat he had ever seen (well, other than his brother's throat, anyway—sometimes, Itachi just looked like a delightful corpse that needed to be aired in the sun!). She suppressed it immediately, her hand on her fluttering breast and her hot eyes upon him. She was a very pretty girl.

"I have a scroll. It disperses the mist by creating a small barrier around the user. A couple of people can fit into it. One needs to know the path to get to the village. It's in an underground cave. Its mouth is big, so farming is possible. It's a beautiful place, Morinaga-San. Would you like to stay there for a while—for free?" she asked in such a mellow voice and created a seductive look on her lovely face. She reminded him so of _Kokoro_ : his lover for a year.

He was seventeen then, and she, a beautiful girl of twenty-five. He was a high-ranking Jōnin assigned as her guard by the Anbu branch. Her father personally requested Itachi to spare him an Uchiha for the task. His brother was reluctant, but to push Sasuke away from his steadfast pursuit of the thrills in Anbu branch, he granted his request. Sasuke was so annoyed with his brother.

She was the daughter of a wealthy noble family from Konoha's Capital. She did not belong to a powerful Clan like his, but they were good, honest people. She showed such lust for Sasuke when she met him, and he became her lover. Whether it was simply to get back at his brother for cutting him off from Anbu, or because his youthful loins madly stirred at the wild and free demeanour of a beautiful girl? He could not really say.

It was such a back and forth affair for him. She would make frequent trips from one village to the next, and her father always obliged. He only wanted to protect his daughter from his enemies; and he stayed with her during those long trips. He went away from home for weeks at a time. She willingly let him play with her, willingly gave up her virtue only on the third day of his assignment when she invited him to her guest room and took off her expensive kimono. She was a shy guarded lover, and he pawed the hell out of her as his heart desired.

He remembered how Kokoro laid down on the bed, her legs spread into a wide stance, her body nubile and bare. It took him a while to register her request. He just stood there, eyes wide open at her boldness, his loins burning at the sight of her. His brother would be furious if he found out, but Sasuke did not care or the thing getting hot and hard between his legs did not.

He remembered how he relished the feel of skin, smiled when she shyly pushed his head down between her legs. How she thrashed about and moaned when he tasted her. He spilt himself a little whilst he pleasured her, but he was impatient . . . the pain, the blood, and the remnants of her virtue on his arousal, it was a strange feeling. He did not go easy on her and she winced and wept. He was young and thoughtless then.

He kept going and she kept weeping, her eyes streaming with tears, but she did not stop him. At last, the pain subsided, and he saw her expressions change. The tight muscles in her face relaxed, and her eyes rolled back into her head . . . and she whimpered with a new emotion. It was a good thing her maids were in on it. Oh, how he had enjoyed her. He took her in so many ways and loved how her pliant body let him.

Sasuke thought it would be a onetime wild night for the foolish girl who was spoilt rotten—he was mistaken. Kokoro made up lies to drag him with her. He could not say he hated it. In fact, he loved to get away from home, get away from his brother who refused to let him back in Anbu. The more he refused him, the more inflamed he got. And he took it all out on Kokoro, pawing her. She never complained. She loved the bizarre nature of their arrangement. She did not even stop herself from going near him even when she was bleeding.

He got away with it for a whole year, fucking her as he pleased to ease his worries. It did not take long for it to come crashing down on him. It turned out that she was betrothed to another wealthy man from the Capital, and the marriage ceremony was not far; and he had taken her virtue, taken her in ways that would have made her father faint with shame. It was a crucial detail she never bothered to mention. The women from the other family were suspicious of her purity. Their maids examined her . . . and it was chaos!

It was such a scandal. The whole Uchiha Clan was in an uproar, lamenting over his unbecoming behaviour. Her father demanded an apology from Itachi and a compensation for his shame. His daughter was defiled and shamed. She was the talk of the whole village: a girl who betrayed her family and slept with a man for over a year. His brother had to bow before a lesser man and offer his apology and money to ease her family's suffering. And Lord Sage, he had never seen his brother so furious. It was the first time Itachi raised his hand to him. He slapped him hard enough to turn his face, knocking his headband off. It split his lip open and it bled badly.

The scolding he got and the shame he felt at being slapped like that before the Elders of his clan. It stung his cheek and his pride. He was taken off duty and Itachi did not speak to him for a month. Kokoro was wedded off in the family. They considered him the evil Uchiha imp who seduced and defiled their innocent, beautiful daughter, using the power of his Sharingan. He scoffed at the whole thing. Sasuke realized that she simply wanted to break off the marriage. She found him beautiful and virile and willing. That was all. Her plan did not work. They were separated, and he felt a little heartbroken by her lies. He never saw her again. Ah, the audacities of youth . . .

Sasuke smiled as his thoughts faded away. "I'll think about it when we get there, sweetheart," he said, "it's never a good thing to be too sure of oneself." He took out a pouch of gold from his pocket and put it in her hand.

She smiled and bowed before him. He did not stick around and walked out of the inn, with Karin in his wake. He walked for a few minutes and stopped by an old well. "Morinaga-San?" he said and took off his cowl.

"It was the only name I thought of. He was one of my customers," Karin said, leaning against the tree to the right.

"Was it even necessary to take a prostitute's services? Sage knows how many men she's led there. Is she even reliable?" he asked and looked up at the evening sky. It was bleeding red on the horizon.

"I can sense if she lies. I've already placed a Seal on her. Once we get there, you can use Genjutsu on her to wipe her mind clean," she said. "Besides, she's a good friend and is letting us stay at her forest house, too. Just be nice to her. She's the only one I know about who sells wares there."

"Be nice to her?" he mused with a cold and lopsided smile on his face. "Are you planning on drugging me again for a three-way time? Behave yourself, Karin. I'm not in the mood." He started walking ahead.

"Hey, Sasuke, you—" she stopped when she heard the loud movement of the wings of a crow sitting way back in the bushes. She turned around and saw several birds sitting with it. She used her sensing but did not feel anything inside it. It was just like a chakra-less mirage!

"What is it?" Sasuke asked from about thirty feet away. He did not take out his Sharingan. He was in a strange land, pretending to be someone else.

Karin looked from the bushes to his face. She felt nervous, but she changed the look on her face from that of surprise to mischievousness. "Just thinking that it'd be fun. You _almost_ liked it last time," she said with a leer on her pink lips. He shook his head in annoyance and started walking again, and she did not mention the crow to him . . .

They walked for few hours. The sky turned from red to sombre grey and then finally black. It was night and the forest was quiet. They could hear distant sounds of so many waterfalls: the village was close. Karin got tired halfway, and he had to sit down to let her climb on his back. He carried her all the way to the small forest house.

It started drizzling when they reached the house: it was small and sat amid a cluster of lush trees, with a big garden in front. She probably made it with all the money she got from Hidden Night Flower. A thick green moss grew on the side of the roof. It had made its way down the wall and grew big and thick on the wood. The bonsai trees were green and fresh. There was a lot of moisture in the air because of the lakes and waterfalls. Autumn had no effect on this place.

Karin opened the padlock on the door and made hand seals to remove the barrier. Miku had made it to protect her home and wares. She was a merchant now and was close to getting a citizenship in the Hidden village. He admired her tenacity and courage to make it out of that rut. She was a brave, hardworking woman.

When the door opened, a smell of spices rushed to him. Bags were piled up in the corner of the kitchen. He saw an old kettle putting out a whistling sound over the hearth: a jet of steam rushed out of its mouth. Karin rushed to it and put in on the side upon the matted floor. Then she flapped her hand and smiled at him. He closed the door and hung his cloak on the Kimono stand reared up against the wall. The room was dimly lit, and he could barely see a thing.

Not a moment passed when Miku popped up by the hearth. She had used a basic Teleportation Jutsu. She looked a little out of breath, her cheeks red. The same hot colour returned to her face when her eyes found him.

"Are you a Shinobi?" he asked and crossed his arms. The woman was surprisingly good with her techniques.

"No, Morinaga-San," she said and put her hands upon her heaving breast. "Karin taught me these when we worked in the village. I practiced to improve my chakra control and got better at it. I only know a few Jutsus to save my life in hairy situations. I'm a woman who lives alone, after all."

Sasuke looked at her, his face a little hard, but he did not say anything. It was always a foolish mistake to be too trusting of people. His mistakes had taught him that. He eyed her for a second longer before he flashed his eyes to Karin. She was still puffing at her reddened palm.

"Morinaga-San, why don't you freshen up in the room over there? I'll bring you dinner when it's ready," she said and pointed to a sliding door down the narrow corridor. He felt tired and left the sitting area in silence.

When night came, the house was filled with voices and sounds. Karin sure was a chirpy one. She talked so much, and it was the first time he was realizing it. She talked and talked, and the other woman barely responded with an occasional _hum_ or _um_. The rain was strong. It whipped the leaves in the garden and the forest. It created such a din outside.

Sasuke ate dinner quietly in the guestroom. He wanted to be left alone. His thoughts wandered off to his brother, but he rejected them. He left him behind. In a few days, he would be declared a Missing-Nin. It was over . . . and he did not care. Itachi would probably weep for a day or two. Then he would hunt him down. He was so sure of this private thought, so sure of his brother's lesser love for him before the village—and it hurt him so much.

His fingers trembled around the teacup, and he tried hard to stifle his tears. They never materialized on his cheeks; they just sat in his soft eyes. He swallowed and gazed up as Karin walked into the room with a small cup in her hand. His eyes shone brightly on his face in the light of the lantern overhead.

"What's wrong?" she asked with concern and slid the door shut.

"Nothing," Sasuke said and bent his head down to hide his face. "How long are we staying here? We need to leave. Tell her that we leave first thing in the morning. I don't want to waste time." He put the cup down on the small table and leant his back against the wall. The futon felt soft beneath his legs: he wanted to sleep.

Karin sat down beside him and brushed his hair away from his cheek. "You miss Itachi, don't you?" she asked, holding the small cup tightly in her other hand.

Sasuke stared back at her. "I don't want to talk about it. Leave me alone. I want to sleep," he said coldly and closed his eyes.

Karin bit her lower lip and looked down at the cup. She gazed back at him, looking a little indecisive. She took in a loud intake of breath and spoke, "take this—it'll help you sleep."

Sasuke looked at the cup and then her face. "What's this?" he asked and took the cup from her hand.

"Chamomile tea," she said, smiling.

Sasuke took a whiff of the smell and downed the cup in one gulp. He stretched his arm to put the cup down when it slipped from his fingers. Heat pooled in his groin and his stomach. His breaths came out rough and hard. His vision became hazy and his touch unsure as he put his hand to his burning cheek.

"Karin—you!" he grunted as he tried to sit up straight. His head fell forward and his back bowed as if some terrible weight was put down on it. A thrilling sensation of lust coursed through his throbbing veins.

"Just wanted to have a little fun, Sasuke," she whispered in his ear and put out her tongue to lick at his lobe . . . and his whole body shivered at the contact. He could barely move. The fever was rising with a monstrous intensity under his skin, and he wanted to be rid of his clothes. The damned woman had drugged him again!

Sasuke heard the door slide open, and the same smell of spices crawled up his nostrils. He turned his head upon the futon to look in that direction, but a hazy veil was upon his eyes. Soft hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him back. He felt the woman stroke down the wide collar of his shirt and it slid down his shoulders.

He raised his head and turned it to look at the woman, and he felt her soft lips upon his, her kiss so demanding and hot. His opened his mouth, and her tongue slicked against his—that pleasure twisted into a hard ball inside his gut. He did not care about the drug anymore. He just wanted to release his tension, ease up the heat burning his body.

Sasuke kissed her long and hard, bit her lower lip, sighed at the touch of her hands against his sweaty breast. He hissed, jerking his head back at the feel of Karin's hand around his length. Her grip was like a vice. She stroked him and licked at the tip before she took him into her willing mouth. She watched his reactions as she swallowed him deeply.

He held a fistful of her hair. Her hungry, head-spinning draw was something. It did not take long, and he erupted into her mouth in pulsing spasms. He emptied into her. His breath was gone and his mouth open. Thick white trailed from the side of her pretty lips, and she pulled back and wiped the release clinging to her chin. At last, he found his wind and drew in a deep breath.

Miku removed herself from behind him, and his head fell back on the fluffed out makura. He felt the weight of her buttocks on his breast and the squeeze of her soft thighs around his face. Her thighs split open, and his lips were suddenly on her genitals . . . and she mewled, rocking back and forth on her heels.

His length was swallowed by Karin's sheath. Her sultry warmth sucked him in, and she rocked on his waist, moving up and down. Each thrust split her wide open, and he groaned against Miku's moist genitals, moving his tongue between her folds, her fingers tight in his hair. She moved and brushed her engorged clit against his tongue, and he obliged: he grasped her hips tightly and pulled her in. Her toes curled and the pressure intensified with the strokes of his tongue.

She went still with a jerk and spilt on his lips and down his throat. Karin continued to ride him, and after a few luxuriously long strokes, he spilt in her as well. She got off his length. He wiped at his mouth and face and tried to sit up, when she pushed him roughly back down and sat on his breast—with her thighs wide open before his face.

"Karin, stop!" he rasped in a shaky voice, trying to push her off himself, "enough. You have had your fun. Get off me."

Chains speared out of her back and bound his hands tightly. He did not even have the strength to fight back. That damn drug . . . this damned woman . . . "don't be so uptight and unfair, Morinaga. Miku-San has yet to have her share of fun. Just lie still," she cooed and bent down to lick at his lips.

Sasuke gasped and threw his head back, his spine arching in an involuntary reaction when he felt the delicious heat of Miku's cunt envelop his cock completely. His legs trembled and grunts tore from his lips as she rode him with such lust and wild movement of her hips. He felt the heat of Karin's mouth upon his lips, and he returned the kiss with half the intensity she desired. He was so tired. He did not protest when she pulled his head between her legs. He could taste his own arousal on her swollen lips. Dear Sage, it was going to be a long night . . .

Sasuke woke up to the loud, resounding sound of thunder. The whole room shook, and the storm's anger lingered for a few more seconds. He sat up and winced. His body ached, and his stomach was acting up. He looked around and found Karin and Miku sleeping beneath the sheets on the other Futon by the small hearth.

He was so angry at her audacity to pull it off at a time like this . . . taking turns throughout the night. He got up and put his shirt on. He felt dizzy. The drug still had not worn off—even his legs were weak. But at that moment, he felt vomit build up in his stomach. He rushed out of the door and the forest house. The vomit burst into his mouth, and he slumped down onto his knees and deposited it next to the well.

His fingers trembled on the wet stones as the vomit rifled up his throat. He hurled nosily. After what felt like ages, nausea faded, and he finally spat out the last of the tangy taste from his mouth. He grabbed the pail hanging down from the rope above the well's mouth and tipped it above his lips. He drank the water, cooling his burning throat. It went down his chin and soaked through his clothes.

The drizzle was cool and light. He sat back down and rested his back against the well and tried to drift off to sleep when the rustle of leaves roused him. He sprang to his feet, his Sharingan resonating with the other's who moved to him slowly from behind the darkness.

Sasuke's eyes bulged out and his throat went dry, the obedient wheels spinning with such musical precision with the other. The disobedient darkness parted, and the taller man walked into the shaft of a clear moonlight: his hard face was like a lifeless stone and in his roiling eyes was the red devoid of the softness he had known since his childhood . . . and Sasuke just could not help himself from whispering in a fearful voice: "N-Nii-Sama . . . "

He had never seen his brother look so furious . . .

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	38. Tough Love

**Chapter Thirty-Eight** : Tough Love

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A cool wind licked at Sasuke through his wet shirt, his eyes wide open, his mouth half open in shock. How did Itachi find him? Sasuke stared at those uncaring eyes with their glassy sheen and their red magnificence. The muscles contracted into a hard look on his brother's face. He did not know how to look away. It was as though he was in a trance.

Itachi did not say anything, his eyes on his and the whole world seemed to have stopped—just like that moon hanging still in the sky. The wind rushed suddenly at him from nowhere and lifted the leaves by his feet. A shushing sound filled the space. Sasuke took a single step to the right, unable to keep his cool.

Serizawa emerged from behind the long shadow cast by his brother. He cast a brief glance at Sasuke and quickly lowered his head. He looked nervous. He stopped by a small garden deity statue at the foot of a crooked tree. The deity's head was missing—rains were only kind to life here. Sasuke's Adam's apple quivered, and he swallowed a gasp. Sweat broke out on his face despite the chill of the breeze.

His brother was still quiet. He was just . . . looking at him. The few seconds in the fetters of his gaze felt like a languid eternity to him. The wind sped past him again and the maddening sound of leaves rose, invading his guarded, secret thoughts. Itachi's long hair whipped wildly in the wind. They framed his white face, hitting against his sharp cheeks that did not even have a hint of rosiness despite the chill. He looked like a finely crafted statue of a lifeless deity—touched by the moonlight, enshrouded by the night. It was so uncanny for Sasuke.

He moved his cold eyes slightly to the right and gazed at the house as though it disgusted him. "Holed up here, were you?" he asked and brought his eyes back to him. "Did you enjoy your little game of hide and seek?"

Sasuke breathed in and out loudly, his mouth trembling, but he finally found his wind of small courage and spoke, "why are you here?"

Itachi looked at him up and down, and his mouth pulled into a half smile. There was a touch of coldness to it, a hint of impishness he had never seen before. "You enjoy playing games, do you not, you child?" he asked icily and dragged the tip of his sword forward against the hard rock jutting out of the ground. Sasuke had not even noticed it till now. The contact created a rough scraping sound that shot a wave of electricity down his spine, and the fine hairs on his neck stood on ends.

His eyes shot up to lock with Itachi's again when he took two steps forward, and he, two steps back in fear. His mouth was dry as sand. He gulped. "What do you want? I left because I didn't want to see you again. Why are you here?" he asked again, injecting a bit of his wild fearlessness into his voice.

Itachi's smile widened, and it was such a cold smile. Then it suddenly slid from his face like the shadows moving on his skin, giving way to slivers of white light from the full moon. His face hardened like a stone, and his mouth drew together in cold anger. "I did not come here to play games with you," his words came out as a sharp, cool sound, "pack whatever silly things you brought with you and come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Nii-Sama," he hissed out the honorific through clenched teeth. That anger was rising just beneath his breast now. It overpowered that fear for just the briefest moment.

"Sasuke, you better listen to me and you better listen good—I really am not in the mood to coddle you tonight. You understand me? The mess you have left at home for me . . . you better move before anger gets the best of me. And believe you me, I will be _remorseless_ today," he pronounced in abject anger. His face . . . it frightened Sasuke.

"Then you clean it up! I don't owe you anything," Sasuke snarled in response, his face shaking. "You're so clever, aren't you? Should be a small task for you. One more problem to bury. One more path to cut. That's all you do. That's all you're so good at. I can bet Otō-Sama must be so proud of you—like he always was." He gave a sharp jerk of his head and created a cold, insulting smile on his face.

Itachi's fingers shook and clenched tightly around the hilt. His features set in the coldest anger. "Sasuke . . . " a hiss came from his trembling lips, "how dare you speak to me in this manner? You hateful, disobedient child. You—" His body desired to jerk forward in protest, but his anger subsided at the look of Sasuke's big wide eyes drenched in fear. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes for a few moments—the anger receding slowly back like a snake's head retreating into a burrow.

He opened them, and his eyes followed the drift of Sasuke's tar-black hair against the cheeks reddened in anger and shame—even fear. He was still such a child. Itachi put the sword away and looked at him silently for a few moments. "What do you desire? Just tell me," he said in a calm voice, looking a little defeated before his younger sibling.

Sasuke stared back; he appeared sceptical. "Is this another one of your tricks? I'm not buying it. You always trick me and have your way. I'm not falling for it this time," he said with a weak smile on his face.

"No," he said, "no tricks. Just tell me what you desire and I will do it—for you. But for Sage's sake, let go of this stubbornness. I am tired. I do not want to quarrel with you anymore. You do not listen to me. You never listen to me. You have no idea of the trouble you have created for yourself, for me. Just . . . do not do this anymore. Do not be such a disobedient child." On his face, now, was a subtle look of desperation.

"Trouble?" he said and gave a small laugh. "Did they declare me a Missing-Nin? Are they about to? Is that why you are here, Nii-Sama? They'll make you a Head—Head of a Missing-Nin's brother. Wouldn't you just loathe it, Nii-Sama? Everyone would just hate you. They would laugh at you. Brother of a Missing-Nin. The shame. It must be eating you from the inside. The wayward, bad brother. The shameful, foolish brother who creates messes for you. How he deserves to be punished. How he deserves to be humiliated—again and again and again!" His lips were trembling with emotions, his face, a mask of anger and anguish. He looked back defiantly at the shocked expression on Itachi's face.

Serizawa raised his head at the sound of Sasuke's shaking voice, his face showing like a white blur, shaded by the shadow of the leaves overhead. He could not see Itachi's face. They stood at a distance from each other. A well and a small stream were between them. He wanted to say something, but it was between them. It was a matter between brothers.

"Sasuke . . . " Itachi whispered, his eyes wide as he looked back at the subtle film of raindrops upon his brother's red eyes.

"Once they put a bounty on my head, you can hunt me if it pleases you. You'll be rid of me," his voice turned into a hiss, and he moved his head forward, his eyes growing bigger. He looked half-mad, his face working with anger and fear.

"Is that what you think of me?" he asked slowly and held his gaze. He felt the tremble of grief quiver through him. His grown tongue was silent now. No words tumbled from his mouth. His eyes roved on his child's angry and sad face like a lost traveller. Sasuke thought so low of him?

"You don't care. You've never cared. You treat our parents' deaths like a stain on your perfect reputation. The perfect brother," he scoffed, "the good son they loved. And he doesn't even care. He doesn't—"

"Stop," he cut him off softly, "no more. Do not say anything more." There was little he could do to buttress the banks of his mind against his brother's sharp tongue, but he was through listening to his accusations. His face hardened and Sasuke spoke no more.

"I do not care what you think of me. How evil and cruel you believe me to be. I did not come here to listen to your accusations, Sasuke. Come with me— _now_ ," he spoke in a hard voice, watching Sasuke get uncomfortable under his searing gaze.

"I'm not going. Not until I find—"

"They are dead," he said and his voice rose almost against his will. "You cannot bring them back. Let them rest. Let this go. Why must you torment me repeatedly? Do you take pleasure in this? Do you enjoy mocking me?"

"I don't believe you . . . " his voice trailed off, "you really don't care. And they loved you more than me. You—you don't even care. They were killed like dogs and you don't—" His voice hitched, and he took a breath in sharply and coughed. "You're selfish—you're cruel. You pretend to love me, but you only care about yourself. You've never cared how I feel. You don't care—you—"

"I do not," he said in a soft voice, "they are gone. They do not need me or you to protect them, Sasuke. That is the truth. No matter how much it wounds your heart, it is the truth. But you I can protect. You are my child, and I will always protect you—even from yourself."

"Damn you, I left you behind. Leave me be. Leave me alone," he said harshly and wiped at his wet eyes.

"I cannot. You are a mere child. You would never understand," he paused, looking a little angry, and stretched out his hand to him, "come with me. Do not test me right now. I will not let you ruin yourself like this. You are not the only one who has a right on your life—I do as well. You cannot take that selfishly away from me. I will not allow it."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You hear me? I'm not. Go on and kill me to uphold your village's precepts if it pleases you. But I won't go anywhere with you," he said in a loud grating voice, his mouth pulled into a snarl.

"Enough of this nonsense. Is that why you take perverse pleasure in this childish talk? You know I would never hurt you. I would never do it. You always keep . . . testing me, and I am tired of you playing this hurtful game to please yourself. No more. You come with me right now. You understand me?" he said drawing a little closer, and Sasuke staggered back—still afraid no matter how he mouthed off to him.

"Will you hurt me again if I don't? What will it be this time, Nii-Sama?" he asked venomously, his arms and legs trembling now.

"Stop this emotional game of yours," he said, his anger rising. "What am I, your puppet? You pull the strings and you want me to play along? I am not coddling you tonight. Stop protesting. Otherwise, I will simply state that your Taka Teammates conspired against you without your knowledge. Let us see how the Council takes it."

"Damn you! Damn you to hell!" he shouted, the veins in his neck swollen like ropes. He was enraged. "What do you want with me? I don't want to do anything with you. Go on and be a Head and all that. Your path is clear. One less extra distraction. They might even give you a promotion for taking my head to the Elders on the tip of your sword." He blinked disdainfully like a cold cat, his mouth drawn in a puzzled smile. It seemed as though he did not know half the things he said, but he said them, anyway, trapped in the grip of emotions.

Itachi's strange, boyish face was pale and drawn. He stared at him in silence, his eyes alight with an intense gleam and a touch of anger that roiled the calmness, making it a turbid river beneath the storms that raged in his mind, quiet under his control. He took in a cold breath. Time was running out: his patience was thinning.

"What do you desire?" he spoke after a long pause, watching his younger brother draw breaths fearfully. "You desire to be in Anbu? Consider it done. You desire your own Team? It is done. You do not want me to become a Head? I will not become one. What else do you desire? Just tell me. If that is what makes you see reason, then I will do it. But for Sage's sake, Sasuke," he said heavily and added in a softer voice, "just . . . come home. Stop this stubbornness. I do not want to see you get hurt."

"Our parents, they—"

"Enough," he cut him off harshly, his face contorting with fury this time, "enough of this. They are dead. It is about time you accepted it. I am not going to stand here and listen to your maudlin show of emotions. I am tired of you playing your games to have your way—time and time again. I have grown weary of it." He breathed in loudly, his mouth drawn in an unbending line. "And it is my fault. I always coddle you, and it has made you so stubborn. You do not listen. You always disobey me. And I let you off because I love you so. And _you_? You always take advantage of my leniency. Starting now, I am going to change that."

Sasuke made a _humph_ sound in his throat. His eyes were still angry and defiant. "I wonder if one day, when I die, it would ever move you," his said, his voice but a mere whisper in the wind, "if you would even shed a tear. You'll just tell yourself the same yarn of _moving on_. How convenient for you to feel so little—to care so less. I wish I were you, Nii-Sama. I really wish . . . " and then he went silent. His dry lips moved no more. He looked hurt. Sorrowful.

He had little idea how his words sliced deep into Itachi's heart, and it tripped, a wounded bird that bled like an ugly animal. The mere thought of Sasuke gone . . . it made him feel completely empty—an ugly shell of a rotting carcass left to wither away under the sun. A sudden blackness washed over him. It flooded his mind and his unbending walls cracked, and what rose from its depths was not sorrow, but such cold anger that it overwhelmed everything inside him. It shivered through him—that impossible feeling of loss that was not upon him yet. It sounded to the rhythms of his heart, and he loathed the thought of him gone.

Fates . . . he had given everything to them. He had no more to give. He had nothing to give. There was but one thing that calmed the wild oceans of duty, honour, and sorrow in his thoughts. That sublime feeling of pure, unending love he chose to give his child—his thoughts, where he was a cold, ruthless man. The taint of blood was upon his hands, and he could never wash it clean. The blackness moved like a wind within, and his empyreal substance that was free of the chains of mortal-flesh drifted along, unfeeling.

He did not feel a thing, nothing but anger; his eyes but windows that could grow no longer to assume his emotions. To take away that one slice of his soul that remained without taint, that allowed him to be selfish, to be human, to feel human? There was no greater cruelty. Oh, but that cold anger ignited his veins like fire, and his whole body burnt; flames of fury, sorrow, and winter clawed at him and ignited his anger. No, there was no greater cruelty if that small part he so protected since he was but a boy was sliced from his spirit. Where would he find this feeling? It would be lost on the roads of eternity to another birth, and he would be left utterly desolate to weep tears of blood in the wake of its insurmountable distance. The blackness . . . he never wanted to taste it.

Sasuke's words roused such anger in him that his fingers started to shake. His brows came together in a deep frown, and his mouth twisted in the most subtle manner. How would a mere child know what he was to him? Sasuke had nothing but hurtful words, hateful words, childish words: he just wanted to play, and he had lost that control to indulge him.

He took a single breath that seared his heart. The anger was too much. "Go and get your things. I am done playing with you," he said in a cold voice and an air of such anger about him that Sasuke flinched.

"I'm not—I'm not going," he wobbled in a small voice like a child, fear crawling up his legs now.

Itachi's eyes shrank, his face a mass of hellish fury. "Did you not hear me? I am not asking you anything, Sasuke, I am telling you to get your things. Now. So help me, Sage, you do not want to anger me right now," he said in a strange hissing voice. He looked furious.

Sasuke shook his head. He opened his mouth and nothing but a sharp breath came out. It hung like a wispy fog before his face and disappeared. Itachi's control was almost gone. He did not want to hurt him. That last thread of his control, his calm, was about to break. He moved his eyes slightly to the right and saw Karin's pinkish eyes peeking fearfully from behind the open door.

"Get your things," he spoke again and steered his gaze back to his brother's face that was affected so completely by fear and shame. "I will not ask you again, Sasuke."

When Sasuke did not move, Itachi let out a sharp breath and swiftly moved towards him. Sasuke staggered back and squashed his back against the rough bark of a tree, his legs shaking. He was absolutely horrified and let out a choked sound. He threw his arms over his face and eyes to protect himself.

Itachi grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him forward; but when he resisted, Itachi turned around . . . and then he hit him and he hit him repeatedly and he hit him without care. His blows caught his ribs and the bones crunched and broke into pieces. Blood rushed out of his body, streaming out of his nose and coming out of his mouth and one ear. The silent forest filled with his screams. Serizawa closed his eyes tightly and winced. There was nothing he could do for him . . .

Karin rushed to him and screamed, "stop it, you're killing him! Stop it!" She stopped dead in her tracks at the deadly look in his red eyes. Sasuke's arm was twisted in his grasp. He forced Sasuke's body down till he was on his knees and moved the shoulder till it cracked from dislocation. He cried out again, his face pressed into the muddy ground.

"This is a private matter, you foolish little girl," he said coldly, twisting his shoulder still, "it does not concern you."

In that small moment of distraction, Sasuke drove his free hand up at his face. It burnt blue with Chidori. He caught his wrist and twisted it till it snapped. Sasuke let out a muffled cry of pain. "How dare you raise your hand against me, you insolent child? You have no manners left," Itachi spoke without any softness to his thick voice, his eyes so cold. He grabbed his arm and snapped it in two places as though it was a brittle twig. Sasuke cried out a terrible, strangled scream. The broken bones threatened to poke out and his arm hung grotesquely as though it never had any life in it.

Itachi pushed him back, and he skidded back on the ground and got knocked against the well. He tried to get up but he could not feel anything on his left side. The broken bones of his ribcage bit into his lungs, and he struggled to breathe. The pain . . . he had never felt such pain before. It stabbed at his breast and jolted his body. A thick glob of spit and blood moved slowly down his chin. He was completely helpless.

Itachi moved towards him again. His hands clenched so tightly that the bones beneath the skin ground. His hands were stained red with blood. He took two steps when Serizawa flashed before him, his arms spread wide. He had a pleading look on his face.

"Itachi-Sama, please, no more," he said, looking anxious and fearful. "You've already broken half of his ribs. His left arm is completely crushed. His fingers are broken—if you hit him any more—"

"Move," came the cold sound from Itachi's lips.

"Itachi-Sama, please, you've punished him enough. Please, forgive him. I beg of you," he pleaded.

"I will not ask you again," he said and the tremble of his lips frightened him. He pulled his arms down and stepped out of the way. He watched as Sasuke struggled to breathe, his back arching and his legs shaking as he twisted and wriggled like a desperate fish out of water. His lips parted and his eyes opened wide. Each draw of a shaky breath brought a gush of blood to his mouth. Only moans and grunts came from his red lips. His face warped in agony as he cried, but he had no breaths to cry out loudly.

Itachi bent down and grabbed him by the jaw and lifted him up till he sat on his knees. "You desire to meet your end that badly?" he asked in such a frosty voice, his breath hitting Sasuke's blood-soaked face, and it rattled his heart, chilled it. "Then let it be by my hand and on my terms. I deserve this much."

Sasuke looked back at him with half-lidded eyes. He could barely hear him speak. The pressure he was applying to his jaw made his body go numb. He could not feel anything other than the fire burning in his lungs. He coughed and the blood landed on the side of Itachi's face and neck. He did not move his hand to wipe it away.

"You talk so freely of death, but you do not know anything of it . . . the pain, the cold sensation of blood, life ebbing away from the body. No, Sasuke, you are just an innocent and adventurous child seeking thrill, a talker who knows nothing. How does this pain feel? Do you really want to die, tell me? Do you?" Itachi asked and leant in so close that the rusty smell of Sasuke's blood filled up his nostrils.

He slackened his grip and Sasuke collapsed by his feet. He could not move anymore. His breaths were gone, and even as he tried to pull some in, it hurt so much. Itachi grabbed him by the good arm, but he could not sit up. His whole body was going numb. He could not feel anything in his legs and the fingers of his crushed hand, and that broken arm only trembled slightly. His head was hanging down lifelessly, and he made no movements to resist his brother.

Itachi moved his eyes to the crow and it disappeared. He turned his head at Karin's tear-streaked, shocked face and appraised her. "If you desire to come back, you can do so with Serizawa—or you can leave. No one will pursue you. It is entirely up to you," he said, and then he disappeared with Sasuke.

When he appeared in the garden of his home, Reverse-Summoned by Kai, it was still drizzling there. Kai's eyes widened with shock at the sight of Sasuke's bloodied form, but he swallowed his words. He followed him as he dragged Sasuke by the arm. His body was dragged across the ground and then the floor. One of his sandals was gone and his foot squeaked against the clean, polished wood.

He opened the thick latch of the prison door, pulled Sasuke up slightly, and then pushed him in roughly. Sasuke could not catch his balance and tumbled down and crashed face-first to the floor and went still. He looked at the hazy figure of his brother, his consciousness going—his cheek pressed into the floor. He drew a shaky, painful breath and coughed out more blood that filled his lungs. It spread around his face and cooled under the draft.

Yuu came running and stopped at the sight of him, looking from Sasuke's still body to Itachi's cold face and the remnants of a warm hue of blood across his cheek and neck. He did not say anything.

"Patch him up and clean the blood. I do not want it around when the Sensor arrives," he ordered and made to walk, but he stopped to add, "do not aid him in any manner and do not bother me with his little tricks—not till he decides to hang himself from the ceiling with that string in his pocket." Then he walked away, leaving Kai and Yuu to stare at each other in disbelief.

Itachi stopped under the open sky. Sounds of rain and cool wind rushed to him. He brought his hands up and watched as his brother's dried blood washed away, diluted into mild pink upon his hands. He kept staring down. Why did he hurt him so much? He had no answer . . .

# # # # # #

 **Canon-Manga Info** : This scene was similar to the one in canon manga that showed Sasuke and Itachi's first encounter after the massacre. Itachi had beaten Sasuke senseless then: he broke several of Sasuke's ribs and left wrist that Kisame chuckled and said, "no mercy!" And after that, he placed Sasuke under a cruel Tsukuyomi torture for twenty-four hours that lasted God knows how long inside his mind (remember, one second equals three days inside Tsukuyomi; so how many years inside Tsukuyomi equal twenty-four hours in real time?); as a result, Sasuke fell into a deep coma, from which only Tsunade (and his genetics) managed to heal him; otherwise, Sasuke would've perished. (Itachi had done the exact same thing on the night of the massacre, as well.)

So consider such instances as an amalgamation of cruelties, mental and physical, Itachi inflicted upon Sasuke through physical torture, Tsukuyomi (repetition of the genocide scenes twice, plucking out of the eye, etc.), the final battle where Zetsu commented, "Sasuke's wounds were grave," etc.

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	39. A Distant Brother

**Chapter Thirty-Nine** : A Distant Brother

 **Canon Manga Info** : Sasuke's exceptional Chakra Control (CC) in this fiction isn't something I've made up to exalt him. Canonically, Sasuke's CC and Ninjutsu- skill in handling regular and Bijū Chakra's unrivalled and at the **Sage of the Six Paths** level. It's well above and beyond anything Naruto and Sakura can manage. The gulf between their skills is insurmountable.

This was stated by Kurama when Sasuke balanced and controlled the Bijū chakra perfectly and created a Pseudo-Mazō out of his Perfect Susanoo (PS): an impossible feat without the Gedō Mazō itself. He applied extremely advanced **Spatial and Elemental Re-composition** to turn that entire chakra, which he'd placed inside the Mazō-PS, into **Raiton**. That's how he created Raiton Senbons and Indra's Arrow.

In the manga, it's Raiton " **forking** " out of the naked back of this PS. Sasuke went even beyond that when he **Spatially Recomposed** it: first into a **Spear** ; and then he created a " **bow and an arrow** " out of it, which we all know as " **Indra's Arrow"** , and determined the " **strength and scope** " of the attack—something that's pivotal to how much chakra needs to be discharged. He even made " **Raiton Senbons** " out of it. He also reversed " **The Creation of All Things** " Jutsu—Sage's most profound accomplishment. These are several complex tasks being done and abilities being created (out of scratch as Sasuke had no knowledge on any of them) simultaneously, without aid! Name me a single character in the manga, save for Kaguya, that accomplished even a tiny part of this at the tender age of 17; because when Sage of the Six Paths created that infamous Jutsu, he was but an old man with years worth of experience and a ripe Rinnegan (Kurama stated that Sasuke's Rinnegan was new and wasn't ripe enough, and _still_ he accomplished all this in mere seconds)! (Not a single Ninja even scratches the surface of sheer brilliance Sasuke displayed before Kurama finished his statement, which was said in few seconds!)

It actually shocked Kurama given that it always balances, kneads, and prepares the core chakra for Naruto. Even the Three-Headed Avatar wasn't made by Naruto nor was the Natural Energy amassed and balanced by him to counter Sasuke's Indra's Arrow. Kurama managed both (the other tailed-beasts managed their chakra for his previous feats). Even the chakra for the last clash that took out their arms was kneaded by Kurama. Whereas Sasuke held two techniques side by side without combining them **in a single hand** : Enton and Chidori. Something no one has ever done—as the Jutsus were not combined.

Not to mention Kurama's God knows how old, and Sasuke's the only one to display such skill and control over chakra; hence, keep this canon logic in mind. Nothing is being exaggerated in regard to Sasuke's skill in Body Flicker and CC. It's canon-manga as Sasuke mastered the Clan's "Rite of Passage" Katon technique at a tender age of five—without any training from his father (oral instructions aren't training)—when learning and combining Nature and Spatial transformation's a feat above A-Rank (according to Kakashi), and it takes years to hone it; and yet, Sasuke managed that within a week, at the age of five!

# # # # # #

Rain slackened and floated down in a misty drizzle. Dull sounds of the stream, slapping against the stones outside, rushed in through the window: it was barred with thick square wooden-gratings and was hardly large enough for an adult to slip out.

Rain tinkled against the heavily-tiled smooth-roof and crawled in through the gaps around the window. Thunder rumbled twice, and that made him restless as his body slightly twitched on the futon. He was still unconscious, but the rush of sounds irritated him, somehow.

The sturdy prison door was left open, and a rush of cool air made it in, blowing strong. Yuu could hear the soft sounds of sandals against the wet floor outside, and in the next moment, Itachi appeared at the door. He did not look any less frosty than he did last night. It was difficult to free his face from indifference's merciless clutches. He looked at the small puddle of water below the window, and his frown deepened still more.

"Yuu, why are you—" he stopped, his eyes widening as they fell upon Sasuke's face: his eyes were wide open and he was not blinking.

The cold look left him as if split from his face like a piece of flesh. He let out an audible gasp before he could control his mouth to swallow it. Then a look of shock suddenly came to his face and invaded his indifference. Itachi rushed to Sasuke and sat down, his hand moving reflexively to press tightly against his bandaged chest; that was when he noticed the powerful jump of Sasuke's heart and the slow heave of his breast.

Itachi's eyes fluttered close. Laying his hand upon his closed eyes, he let out a small breath of relief. He really had not noticed Sasuke's breathing; he was alive. Itachi kept sitting like this for a few moments, his hand still on Sasuke's breast as if to count his warm breaths and his steady beats. Then he drew it back, and his other one slipped down from his own face. He gazed at Yuu's surprised face. Itachi appeared calm and cool now. That emotion had passed from his features.

"Is that why you called me here?" he asked in a slow voice. Then he moved his eyes back to Sasuke's face. It was expressionless. He did not look in pain, but it did not seem as though he was in a state of calm, either. His eyes were focused on something on the ceiling—red but without a touch of anger and danger. There was still dried blood around his nose, lips, and chin. Even the bandages that swathed his breast were spotty at some places. The stains were crusty and red like old tiles.

"Why is he like this? I-I've tried everything, but his eyes won't close," Yuu said a bit meekly and lowered his gaze to his hands. He was holding onto a clean bandage.

"He is in distress," he said, "it happens sometimes. The Sharingan answers to emotions. His eyes will close when the pain fades away."

"I . . . I see," he said in a choked voice and listened to the pattering rain. It provided a good distraction for his thoughts.

"You still have not washed his face?" he asked and pulled up the bandage slightly. It was tight around Sasuke's breast to straighten his broken ribs. He saw black spots just beneath the shadows cast by his fingers. The shadows were bruises; it would take him long to heal.

"I did," he said in a small voice and smoothed out the bandage thoughtlessly.

Itachi's eyes were still on the black spots—they were like healed marks of a skin charred by flames. He turned on his Sharingan to look beyond the bandages: Sasuke's skin was black in some areas and purple and raw in others. He breathed in the scent of the rain and looked at Yuu, appearing a little distracted by the sounds.

"He bled again?" he asked in a flat voice. His expression was guarded.

Yuu gave a slow nod, his eyes still focused on his hands. He did not really want to look back at Itachi. "I suspect it was because you broke so many—" he stopped and pulled in a long breath, "—I mean, so many of his ribs were broken. I gave him painkillers, but he was in a lot of pain. The broken bones bit into his lungs, and he couldn't breathe properly. The bleeding didn't stop until I didn't mend his bones through healing. If any more of his bones—he could've—" And he did not speak any more on the matter.

The muscles around Itachi's lips contracted, and a small grimace tore through that unrelenting mask, but he was swift to give it another cool disguise: a cold and uncaring one, and like always, he was successful.

Yuu's eyes were downcast, and he gingerly moved his hand above Sasuke's breast. He gathered enough chakra in his palm and began healing again. He lowered it to try and touch Sasuke's breast when Itachi spoke: "do not touch him."

Yuu quickly looked up, and a puzzled look crossed his face, his hand hanging motionless above the slowly moving breast. "Am I doing something wrong?" he asked, his voice still so meek and small.

"You did not notice? He is putting out mild Raiton charge in distress—perhaps to protect himself in this state. If you touch him now, it will send you flying out of the room," Itachi spoke and moved his finger forward to touch Sasuke's where a bluish charge jumped from one tip to the next. He pulled his hand back with a jerk. There was a smile on his face now, a warm and genuine smile, and it surprised Yuu.

"Itachi-Sama?" he spoke lowly, looking to Itachi's calm face. He was confused. All signs of indifference had melted away, and a soft look had come into his face. He looked pleased; it was like his cold body had ceded to the feeling so completely.

"Sasuke's chakra control always leaves me in awe. It is unlike anyone else's," he spoke gently, trying to touch Sasuke's trembling fingers again, "he was so skilled at moulding it even when he was a child. He would make Kunais and Shurikens sharper with chakra. Then he would throw them at rocks to see if they would go through or not. He was a boy of five then."

Yuu was silent. He was staring at Itachi's lips, his face, and the casual movement of his hands. It looked odd to him. Itachi looked odd, telling stories of bygone days just because his heart desired. It was like his features had never worked with that uncaring look that was so natural to him.

"Such a gifted child," Itachi whispered and brushed his fingers on Sasuke's wrist. Then he leant forward and moved his fingers across Sasuke's forehead, too. Sasuke's eyes fluttered, and he let out a shaky breath, as if protesting, before he closed them. His face was calm now, and he breathed quietly and fell into a peaceful slumber.

The smile lingered on Itachi's face for a few fleeting moments, and then it vanished quite suddenly. His mouth was hard again; his face, no different. He kept his eyes on his brother's face and spoke: "clean his face again."

Yuu gave a slow nod, his attention now focused on his hands again. He heard Itachi leave and turned his face to the door. Then he felt the cool draft on his back and sighed.

It kept raining through the morning. Sometimes, it was monstrous lightning that paved the way for heavy rain that lashed everything. Then it would mellow to a light spit and thunder would fade. The day soon declined and evening came upon them. Sun went below the horizon, and its last red light was but a forgotten hue in the sky.

The lantern outside swayed back and forth as the light breeze pushed past it; its yellow light cast a thick, long shadow along the floor of the room. The bars' shadows travelled forwards, long and wide, till they settled across Sasuke's white face. It was as if they stirred him, and he opened his eyes reluctantly.

He lay inert on the futon. The pain still crashed through his body like a ferocious wave. Hesitant, like a small child, he pulled in a breath loudly. It was cool, and a feeling of contentment washed over him. He could _actually_ breathe now. The pain was bearable. He could deal with it.

Sasuke tried to force his eyes open, but the drowsiness pushed his lids down. He could barely make anything out in the darkness that stood defiantly in all corners. Its drape was heavy. Eerie. The room still swam before him—the details so fuzzy as if badly drawn squiggles of a feisty child. He moved a little to sit up when a sharp pain shot straight to his head. He winced and slowly sank back down into a lying position.

Slowly, he brushed his trembling fingers just down his breast and felt the pain jolt him again—his eyes watered and burnt with the sensation. Sasuke twisted his neck to the left and saw a white bottle on the small-table. He could not quite tell how far it was from him. Clumsily, he stretched his arm, and his hand knocked against the glass bottle, and it fell down and rolled away from him.

"Damn it . . . " he barely managed between grunts and stubbornly sat up. His tongue was so dry and heavy. He was thirsty and he was in pain.

Sasuke crawled forward and stretched his arm to full length to touch the white bottle shining in the light. His trembling fingers just barely brushed it when a hand picked it up from the floor. He blinked once, twice, and made out the shape of a sandal close to his hand. He craned his neck and the red in his eyes responded without his consent. His brother was sitting in a chair, one leg crossed on the other. Sasuke could not really see his face, just his eyes that tore apart the dark with their sinister glow.

"It is empty, Sasuke," he spoke so gently, the bottle in his other hand. "Are you thirsty?"

Sasuke could not breathe: those eyes pinned him in place. Sweat broke out on his skin, and he forced himself to move back quickly and pressed his body against the wall. It was silence again. The light drizzle made the quietness more obvious. Itachi did not say anything for a few moments. Sasuke could hear his soft breaths when he focused his shattered concentration on him. He was glad that sounds from outside invaded his ears, for all he could do was teeter between great anger and crushing fear.

"Are you thirsty, Sasuke? Do you want me to get you water?" he asked, and his soft voice made him so angry. It was as though he was mocking him, taking pleasure in the misery he had inflicted upon him.

Sasuke's lips were pressed together tightly. He did not want to speak to him. The pain was forgotten in these moments. All he could feel was raw anger flood his body. He watched as his brother put the bottle down on the floor, uncoiled himself, and stood to a dominating height. He advanced, and Sasuke wanted the wall to swallow him up. That fear broke apart the seething rage in him—yet again. He felt his breast tighten painfully, and his lungs struggled to work as Itachi sat down beside him.

He wanted relief from this torment. He wanted him to leave. He pulled his knees close to his breast, curled his arm around them, hid his face behind the curtain of dishevelled black hair and the shadows. Itachi leant slightly forward, and the blackness and the fear around him made it seem as though every inch of his vision was crowded with him.

Itachi's eyes tracked the sweat drops trailing across his brother's jaw. His skin was shivering. He was afraid. He moved his eyes away from Sasuke's face and settled them upon the tray on the table. "Your dinner is cold. You have not eaten anything for two days. You must be hungry, thirsty. Eat something. Drink some water," he spoke in a calm manner, but each word was more painful than a burning whiplash on Sasuke's cold skin. He hated him; he wanted him gone . . .

"Here," he said and picked up the glass from the tray, "drink this."

Sasuke looked at the water from under the fringe of his lashes and breathed out a tiny gasp of anger. The water was tempting, and suddenly, his tongue felt drier, heavier in his mouth; but he did not want to give him the satisfaction. He did not want him to win. To hell with him!

"I don't want it. Get away from me," he rasped and bent his head down to hide his face as he unconsciously licked his lips from the unbearable thirst that was beginning to gnaw at the last thread of his composure. The fear inside was a mass of hungry rats, ravenously biting through everything in their path . . .

"Sasuke, you need to drink and eat. Your fever will rise if you do not. Just drink this and eat something. I will leave once you do," he said, sounding sincere as he moved the hand that held the glass of water.

"I don't want it. Leave!" he hissed this time, getting angry, and the cool breath dragged cruelly against his dry throat. The thirst . . . it was starting to hurt him.

"Just take a few sips. You are so weak. I know you are thirsty. You are angry with me. Do not punish yourself." He stretched his arm and held the glass before him.

Sasuke's eyes shone under the flop of black hair—red and dangerous. He slapped the glass away and it crashed against the wall to the right, shattering into pieces upon the floor. "I said I don't want it. Leave me alone. I would rather starve to death than take anything that comes from your money. Get out—get out!" he shouted, and his jaw clenched harder, his face warped with nothing but the wildest fury as he shivered all over.

Itachi was calm. He stared at Sasuke's lips pressed into a thin line. He remained quiet; then he exhaled loudly and got to his feet, his red looking down at the pale light of the lantern shining through many shards by his feet. He went down on one knee and started picking them up one by one. One of the shards bit into the soft flesh of his finger. He did not grimace. He had experienced worse—far worse than such a small twinge of pain.

Blood oozed out of the deep cut, but he kept picking up the pieces. He put them one by one upon the tray, his thoughts bent upon the broken object. He did not let them wander elsewhere. The tiny pieces were so small, but he was meticulous. What if Sasuke stepped upon them in the grip of fever? It would make his feet bleed.

So Itachi rubbed and dragged his fingers over the floor and picked up the small, shiny pieces upon the tips of his fingers. They cut into his skin and it bled and created streaks of blood across the floor. The fine streaks lost their shape as drizzle made its way into the room. They turned pink and soaked through the wood. He would have to close it.

At last, he turned on his Sharingan and looked around his feet. He had picked every last one up. He got up and looked over to Sasuke. He had turned his head away. His cheek was pressed against the wall, and he was breathing loudly. He did not say anything to him and made to walk away, but his voice stopped him: "I'm not your toy . . . you break when you want and pick up when you want . . . I'm not your toy." His voice was small, weak. He saw a tear roll down Sasuke's cheek and cling to his jaw. Half of his face was hidden in the darkness; he could not even see his eyes—Sasuke's words had put his red to sleep.

Itachi was not a man prone to emotions, but his words moved something in him, and for a moment, his body went rigid. His words rattled him and his gaze faltered. He stared at him for the span of two more heartbeats and turned away. He opened the door, the tray steadied in his other hand, and closed it behind him.

"He didn't eat it?" Yuu asked as he took the tray from Itachi's hand. Then his eyes fell upon his bleeding hand. "Itachi-Sama, your hand! Let me—"

"Get him something to eat from his money," he cut him off and moved the heavy latch down to close the door firmly.

"He gave it all away to the school in the Uchiha village. He almost always does. He doesn't have any in his account," he said and stared down at the vivid droplets slipping along the sharp edges of the shards.

"Tell Serizawa to cut his pay for next month. I am leaving. I have some matters to attend. He will not eat anything from my hands. Just get it done," he spoke heavily, his eyes wandering to his left to gaze at the closed door, "give him something before he starves himself to death." Then he left silently.

Itachi's absence had piled up a lot of work in his office. Scrolls on Anbu exercises and Jōnin missions littered his desk. For the first time in his life, he admitted to himself that this tedious office work irritated him. Pointless applications and letters of recommendations . . . they seemed to be endless. Some of them were so clumsy that it made him scowl at the foolishness of the Shinobis. If it was up to him, not many would stay in the squads; but, alas, it was not completely up to him.

At least, he subjected the squads to necessary winnowing. Tsunade was strict, but she had to answer before the Council, and they wanted to fulfil a certain quota. It was foolish, but he was not the sole torch-bearer of Konoha's political policies. He felt as if everything was thrown on his shoulders to keep this rocky ship afloat. He could not really wait for her to limit the Elders' hold. It was only a matter of time. Then, maybe then, it would reduce this burden of his.

A frown was on his face as he sat down upon a chair put before an open window. He had dragged it away from the table. He found the dim light and the cool breeze soothing, somehow. It was not like him to be so casual, but he had fewer distractions here. His ears wriggled, and a smile disturbed the hard expression on his face. He lifted his eyes and waited for the knock to come to the door.

"Come in, Suigetsu," he said, abandoned the scroll on his lap, and positioned his hands on the armrest.

Suigetsu stepped in through the door. This time, he had no grin on his face. He closed the door and took two steps before he stopped himself from going any further.

"You look troubled," he spoke and eyed him with a smile that curled his lips. "What worries you?"

"You called, I came, boss. Nothin' else to it," he said and lowered his eyes. Itachi's smile was as cold as ever.

"Ah, not worried about my beloved brother this time? I am glad you learnt your lesson. Albeit you are a slow learner," he said, sounding quite amused.

"Ah, ya broke plenty of his bones I heard. Even I didn't see it comin'. But what can I say? He's your lil' brother. Break 'im, mend 'im, scold 'im, ya got the right," he said, his flat tone turning almost mischievous. His eyes twinkled, and he parted his lips in a smile.

"There is the Suigetsu I know," he said, still wearing the same smile, "someone who is relentless in his pursuit of wild interferences. Did Karin weep before you? Her tear-filled show was rather tepid." His eyes were narrowed now, but he kept up the show of cold disdain mingled with amusement—it was something only he could exhibit.

"Am sure ya didn't call me here ta talk 'bout Karin," he spoke with a burr so thick. It always got the best of him when he was emotional.

"No," he said, pronouncing the word with such care that it chilled Suigetsu. "But I do quite enjoy your company."

" _Really_? Sage help me, boss," he said and chuckled, his hands thrust in his armpits. His office was strangely cold.

Itachi merely smiled. "Who told you where to find Sasuke? Just give me straight answers. This paperwork is so irksome." He threw the scroll down to his feet, and his eyes returned back to Suigetsu.

"Some faggit, I don't know his name," he said, trying to keep his cool. He felt as if he was evaporating in Itachi's gaze now; the heat of it brunt him from across the room.

"You do not honestly expect me to believe that, do you? Why lie, Suigetsu, when I told you I am already irritated?" he asked and pressed the fingers of his right hand against his temple.

"Not lyin'," he said, "but ya already know he's from the Tulip Squad. Why beat around the bush ta scare me? You're mean, boss—you'll just make my lil' heart burst!" He grinned, his teeth on full display.

Itachi fixed him with an impassive gaze, and then, as if the sudden sound of leaves distracted him, he looked at the window. "It really matters not," he paused, his gaze upon something Suigetsu could not see, "where is this village you spoke of?"

"Somewhere close ta the Hidden Waterfalls Village. That's all I know," he said and narrowed his eyes a little to look at the changing expression on Itachi's face. The trick of the shadows made it difficult to see his face clearly.

"I want you to bring the scroll to me tomorrow and tell me everything you know," he said and hitched his leg upon the other. His face was a hard mask. He looked so threatening—the reds were cold flames in his eyes.

Suigetsu gulped. The happy smile faded and the twinkle vanished from his eyes. "I gotta say, ya knew I didn't know where Sasuke was. Then why scare me? Am just a stupid lil' boy like ya said. My lil' heart could've exploded. So cold, boss—ice-cold."

A corner of Itachi's mouth pulled in a smile. "You talk without a care. Look how much you told me just now. So naïve. Is it not better this way? Now I will just go and see as to what makes that village so special. I believe it is time to put it all behind us for good. Would you not agree?" he asked, and the dazzling colour in his eyes seemed so magnificent, so eerie that Suigetsu was struck dumb.

Lightning was loud and it blinded them as it shone through the bars again and again. It shook the whole building. The manor was no different as it took fresh lashes from the rain. Sasuke was alone in the room. The thirst was killing him. He could not produce any spit now. His tongue was as dry as a piece of meat left under the summer's sun. His fever was rising, and he hated that his anger had made him reject that glass of water.

He heard the small portal in the door move back, and then a tray was slipped in through it. "Sasuke-Sama, I got this from your own pay," Yuu spoke loudly, his voice carrying over the loud sounds. "Please, eat it. You must be hungry."

The portal was closed from outside, and the steps moved away; and like a hungry animal, he scrambled for the tray. He did not care what he got hold of. He just wanted to quench his thirst and sate his hunger. The hands trembled as shame rose inside him. He balanced himself on his elbows and straightened his torso, his head hanging down . . . and he wept . . .

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	40. The New Head

**Chapter Forty** : The New Head

 **AN: Shide** are _paper streamers_ that decorate sacred ropes in Japan. It's done to manifest an object's _sacredness_.

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Autumn rains grew relentless, the wind cold and merciless. It bit into the fragile skins of shinobi who went out to patrol the outskirts of Konoha. It was a part of their duty. Wants were of little value in the grand scheme of politics.

So they obliged, weather-beaten and crestfallen after many small forays to keep that barrier intact. It was the source of their survival, the higher-ups always said. Sometimes, it made many wonder: was it really so? Lies, such lies—pretty, pretty lies. But such words were better hidden in the dark corners of their feeble minds. Spilling them meant nothing but trouble.

Naruto was no different. He was boisterous, flippant, naïve even, but he was still a good shinobi. To think that he would be famous being the son of the previous Hokage, but it was just a passing daydream. No, he was considered a terrible disgrace, a reminder of a taint his father bore to this day.

If it was not for the Uzumaki blood in his veins, he would have been discarded long ago and left to rot before the whims of fates. How they were cruel to him—an Uzumaki half-breed. Even his blood was half the worth of the pure-blood elites. He was not born that way to exhibit a pure-blood clansmen's snobbery. It was but a wish he forever had in his breast.

But his fault was so innocent, so small: a crime of birth. Fates would have him believe that his mother deserved to suffer and lament in the Blood Pool Hell, not because she killed herself in throes of birth, but because she brought him into this world to ease her burdens.

Naruto's thoughts wandered, like wayward little boys they were, and he believed her to be a culpable sinner, an abettor in a crime that left his life a snarled yarn of misery. If only they had left him alone, left him free, he could have taken a chance to forge his own destiny.

But the brush to finish the first stroke of his life was snatched away so soon; he was but a sacrificial lamb in their stories, a mere actor at the mercy of their tales. He hated it—that feeling when he cringed at their feet, pleaded before them to grant him a little room to breathe.

Even his wife was cold to him. Those times when he tried, she acted as though he disgusted her. It angered him. Her aloofness was unbearable. After that last miscarriage, he vowed to never touch her, never claim her again. When he would become a Jōnin, and she a _Chūnin_ , he would end this sham they called marriage. She would be free, and he freer than ever.

His mind was clearer now. He could think straight, weave thoughts. Not long ago, even that was such a sad impossibility. Whatever he had suffered from, he managed to beat it. Cure it, he mused. It made him feel a little happy. At least, he managed to cross one hurdle in life. At least, he beat something.

A smile crossed his face as he flashed from tree to tree with Neji ahead of him. Rain was calmer now, but it was not any less cold. Its droplets were tiny pins on his skin. But he ignored it. He was gaining experience. It was good. He turned his shy gaze slightly, and his smile widened: Sakura was with them today.

He was such a boy around her still—shy, unsure, and nervous. He even blushed. It would have embarrassed any man of his age, but he did not care. She made him feel happy and free. That was all that mattered. The feeling made his heart jump. It was as if it agreed with his thoughts of her. She was freedom to him, everything Hinata was not.

Neji indicated with the flick of his hand that they needed to proceed to the left. Naruto did just that. He gathered more chakra in his legs and made a long leap for a tree about forty feet away. His feet did not falter. They easily found purchase upon the thick bark. He saw a good clearing some twenty feet away from him.

He flashed forward, right at Neji's heels, and landed in the clearing. Sakura jumped down just behind him. Her hair was quite wet and stuck to the sides of her face. Few soft strands were meticulously tucked behind her ear. She smiled when he looked at her and his own broadened at the sight of her green eyes and flushed cheeks. She looked so lovely to him.

"We have to make sure the passage is safe for the emissary," Neji said, his Byakugan out to scan the area. For him, the whole world was awash with black and white. It was as though they were submerged in a colourless ocean, and it was always difficult to play hide and seek there. He could see all.

"We've already double checked the area. Is it even necessary to make the third round?" Naruto asked and put his hands behind his head.

"Yes, Naruto, it is," he said, turning around. "It's Itachi-Sama's orders. Unless you want to get scolded, I suggest we finish this as soon as possible. He wasn't happy when I gave him our search report late last time."

"He's never happy. That scowl's permanent," he said, wearing a big grin on his pinkish face.

"Just make few Bunshins and fan out. Send two with me. I want to check the area close to the borders—just in case," he said, rubbing his hands together. His breath hung like fog before his face. It was so cold. "You two can stay here and make sure the barrier's working fine."

Lightning fulminated overhead, and the drizzle turned heavy. It pelted their faces, but the wind was calm. Naruto stared up and groaned. He made his signature hand-seal and created six annoyed Naruto's. They made terrible faces and emitted sounds of protests, but went away with Neji, regardless.

Sakura took out a scroll from her pocket and placed it upon the wet ground. The ink was waterproof, and the raindrops could not soak through the water repellant surface. Naruto looked down and made a few hand-seals. It materialized the barrier. It was a gauzy thing: big and round. It stood still before them as a stretched out, flimsy curtain. Light slithered off it and rain fell through to the ground. It was an strange looking thing that simply sounded off an alarm in the headquarters.

Naruto stretched his hand to touch it, but it went straight through. The thing was ghostly. He felt nothing on his skin other than a tingling sensation. He guessed it was because of the seals they just made. Sakura gathered chakra on the tips of her fingers and poked at it, creating ripples that went far and wide.

"Looks fine here," she said and gazed up towards the sky. Clouds were breaking apart above them. The rain would stop soon.

"Itachi's really offered you a place in Anbu?" Naruto suddenly asked, and her face smoothed out like sudden shock left her with nothing to show.

"Who told you that?" she asked, sounding almost annoyed. Her face knotted with an emotion he could not read, but she quickly turned her face away, pretending to be distracted by the crow cawing up in the tree.

Naruto moved away from her and sat down on a toppled tree. He put his hand upon his face and wiped away the rain from his forehead.

"The whole team's talking about it," he said, shrugging, his eyes on the soft waves of pink fallen loosely around her face and that broad forehead: it was something she was ashamed of to this day. She combed her hair in so many ways to hide it, but she never quite managed to conceal it completely.

She turned around, hands on her hips, mouth contorted with something of a scowl. "Serizawa-San's busy with advanced training, so Itachi-Sama offered me a place as a replacement. It's a contract-based small job. It doesn't make me an Anbu. I gotta say, the team talks a lot. Sasuke probably ratted it out," she said and huffed out a deep sigh, and her cheeks grew redder with anger.

"I doubt it. I haven't seen him in weeks," he said and palmed rainwater into his mouth. He drank it and emitted a satisfied sound. "You sure hate him these days. I don't know what's going on between you two, but you gotta work it out. We're not children anymore."

"I don't hate him!" she said loudly in anger and fell silent, realizing that it came out louder than she had expected. Her eyes flit from tree to tree to her right in nervousness, and that heart began to deliciously trip and writhe when she thought of him, his face, his body. Damn him! Damn him! She so wanted to wish ill upon him.

Even if she lay with Itachi, it was impossible to sate her lust completely. It still lingered and stung her like a leech with a hungry draw as it soldered itself to her body so completely. Slowly and torturously, it sucked her dry and left her so helpless. The heat from his body was drugging. She had not even touched him in a way she desired, and still . . . and still she was at his mercy.

How she longed for him to be at hers, bound to her and her iron-will, shackled to her body and spirit, so that she would have her way with him again and again . . . and again, and leave him without mercy, without a ground to stand on. Then he would know how it truly felt; how it felt to be rejected and unwanted and still continue feeling the forlorn ache of desire; how it felt to taste the dull pain of rejection and be shamed at another's whims.

He was just cruel to her. What would he lose if he indulged her when that lust, that hunger for him became unbearable? Nothing, but he so enjoyed her weakness. It was a just game he loved to play. Sakura felt as though she was a broken little toy to him, and he, an unruly and naughty little child. He had bought her but never wanted to play with her. She rotted away under the shadows in the corner of his room, neglected by him, and it hurt so much.

Sakura bent her head, and her face slowly transformed itself to rage. Itachi . . . his words were harsh, but what would he know? He knew nothing, nothing of the depths of her desire. If he rejected her, then she would make sure that fates would leave him at her mercy. Oh, and she was close—so close to seeing him cringe by her feet with a rope tied around his neck, like an obedient whelp, and it made her lips tremble with a smile. That sudden anger was forgotten in amusement.

"A'right, Sakura-Chan, I believe you," he said, grinning. "You don't have to be so angry with me."

"You haven't seen him?" she asked, met his eyes, and pulled a concerned look.

Naruto shook his head and picked up a small wet stone from the ground. He tossed it at the tree in front and let out a loud sigh. "Itachi's probably keeping him busy. He sends him on a lot of missions. He's the Squad Captain of our good ol' Espionage Team, after all. I'm not really surprised—he always over-works him like a mule," he said, his face a little expressionless as he stared at his feet.

Lightning flashed and thunder growled again. Wind suddenly rushed at her naked legs and they shivered. She was wearing the same black shorts today; they barely covered the soft swells of her thighs. She was really regretting her decision now. Small droplets moved down the bare skin, and the sensation they produced made her feel so cold. She really wanted this mission to end.

Naruto's head was bent, and he was quiet now. He sighed a few times and looked up at her, his face sad and innocent. "Sakura-Chan, I was thinking," he paused to let out another loud sigh as if he was preparing himself for something, "that I should end the marriage and move in with you."

Sakura's eyes widened in shock. Her mouth was red, and she forgot to breathe for a few moments. Her heart thundered when she met his gaze. He was smiling—it was a warm, carefree smile. He was still the same naïve Naruto she knew. It really made her feel like a monster. She did not want to do this to him, but she had little choice.

"Naruto, it's so soon," she said and watched his lips lengthen in the saddest smile. She really hated herself at this moment.

"You always say that," he said, and his mouth twisted down into a small frown. He looked a little sad, a little angry. Then his mouth rebounded into a half-smile again.

"Naruto," she whispered and approached him. His head was hanging down a bit to the left, and he sniffed loudly and moved his hand across his cheek. He was weeping.

She put her hands on his head, her fingers threading into the thickness of his hair. He leant forward, burrowing into her stomach with his head. His arms reached up to curl around her hips. "Sakura-Chan, you don't love me?" he asked in a weak voice. He was still silently weeping.

"Naruto," she breathed out, her eyes misting over, "of course I do. Why would you even ask me that?" She stroked him gently and fixed him with lying eyes as he strained his neck to look up.

"Then why don't you?" he asked and there was a look of desperation on his face. He seemed beaten, tired.

She cupped his cheek and wiped away his tears. His whites were pink with tears and the blue made him look like a child. "Do you think it's wise to break off your marriage now? You don't have a Jōnin rank yet. You need it to truly stand on your own. If you do this now, who knows what your parents will do. It'll only complicate things. I don't want that for you."

He was silent for a few fleeting moments, meeting her green eyes with a hot intensity in his. "But it isn't fair to Hinata, too. She doesn't want me and I don't want her. I want her to be free, too. The sooner this ends, the better," he said roughly and pressed his cheek against her stomach again. Her clothes were soaking wet, but he did not mind. He loved her. They were not going part them—he would never let them.

Sakura skittered her hand through his hair and whiffed at the musky smell of earth. Her mind was lost in thoughts. She needed him. She was selfish, but she needed him to play his part. "Wait it out. It's too soon. You've nothing to help you fall back on your own feet. It'll ruin you," she said in a soft voice. It was barely audible against the persistent whispers of the wind.

"No, you don't understand," Naruto said harshly, pulling away as he slapped his hand against his breast, "I don't want her to see me as a bad man in this any longer when her father ruined my life. He wanted this more than my parents did. Who knows what possessed him to pressure father like this, but he gave in. I never wanted her. I never . . . wanted her . . . " He lowered his head again, his face knotted in anxiety and anger. She did not know what to say.

Sakura sat down and put her hands upon his knees. She wore a warm, caring smile now. She was such a liar, but it had to be done. "Just be patient for a little while longer. Let Sasuke get back. I'm sure he'll help you—he always does," she said warmly and raised herself up to sit on his thigh. She pulled his head to her breast, and he loosened and relaxed in her tight embrace.

Naruto nodded in response, putting his hands behind her back. It did not matter to him; as long as he could have her, he would face them all. The thought gave him strength and he closed his eyes, listening to the gentle sounds of rain and soft thumps of her young heart. It was soothing, somehow . . .

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Bare legs were parted wide, with a pair of underwear around the right ankle. He drove into her with all the strength his small body allowed him. He was still so young. His hands roamed over the tiny swells that would develop into breasts in later years—when she would attain that womanly shape. She was so young, too—so tight and warm. It did not seem right to claim her body. She was a child still.

For now, it did not really matter. She was warm, slick, and so taut. The way she sucked him in . . . he was surprised that he was the only one she had had sex with. With hands pressed over her lips, she suppressed her moans. He had taken her on the library floor this time, her small, child-like legs raised in the air as his thrusts propelled her forward.

Her buns had come loose, her hairs a tangled calamity. Her moan was sweet and soft, her blush deep, her bosom slick and wet; he had only opened the front of her kimono to take a peek again—a boy's curiosity. The small nipples were hard like pebbles on the swells. He could not say he found her all that attractive. She lacked the curves of a woman. Her cheeks were too plump and her fingers too small. He would not even call her a girl. A mere child she was.

But still it did not matter for he took her as he enjoyed the warm, wet walls around his shaft. The way they tightened unbearably was so amazing. It was unlike any other feeling. The pleasure relished by his small body and mind numbed him when the act was done. He lusted to be surrounded by her heat whenever he felt anxiety and grief take their toll on him. He just wanted to be rid of them.

And it was the only way. The hot friction, the torrid feel of her walls, the exquisite wetness her small body could give—it was amazing. It all started with a simple request. She heard of the act and asked him to do it with her. She was an Uchiha girl like him. They called her Mayu, and she came often to the main-house with her parents.

He was a virgin no longer. He lost his innocence to Karin over a small game when he turned twelve. Karin's budding body was so beautiful to him. She was almost a woman: a sixteen-year-old adolescent girl. She had developed such delicate curves. The flare of her back and hips was so new for him. Her buttocks were round and soft, and her small breasts spilt into his hands so perfectly. He was so curious to see this girl's body, but when he tore down her kimono and underwear, her form disappointed him.

Everything was so small on her. Her limbs were weak—they had no shape. Her genitals were too soft. There was not a hair on her lips. It left little to the imagination. Karin had such pretty thick hair on her groin, and he remembered pulling at them gently when she asked him to play with her. She had yet to develop a scent of her own, a strong and musky female odour. He imagined she had just reached sexual maturity. She told him as much that she started bleeding a few weeks before her twelfth birthday.

Perhaps that was the reason why she was so small. Her body was so small; but he only loved that one small part of hers. When he took her for the first time, he was glad he had a little experience. He had set her down on the futon, peeled away her small kimono, together with that colourful underwear, to stare down at her underdeveloped body . . . curiously. There was nothing to play with there. Her softness was that of a babe's, and her genitals were too pink, puffy, and clean.

She started weeping when he drove past that thin veil. She had one that covered her entire entrance save for few tiny holes to allow her to menstruate. Dear Sage, how she bled. So many dolls sat on the futon with them. They stared at them, with eyes empty, and he felt as though they were watching him pollute her innocent body.

He was gentle with her and kept himself above her, hands on either side of her red face. She breathed in and out loudly and muttered something that it was supposed to hurt for girls like her. He was not really an expert in female affairs, so he just nodded innocently, a little horrified by the red stain just beneath her buttocks and a big red one just where they connected. If he was honest with himself now, he really did not care back then. She wanted sex and he did, too; so she would sneak out of her room at night with a doll held tightly in her one hand, and she would meet him by that old well, looking giddy and happy.

He asked her often about the doll with ugly-looking stringy hair and big round eyes, and she would simply giggle, telling him that it made her feel safe. He always felt a little disgusted with himself when she reminded him how child-like she still was. They had fun almost every night, but how shameful that he ended up in a cell after her lies, humiliated before the Elders—even his brother did not shield him.

He sat in a cell now, too. There were only one window and one door, and his brother stood beyond the wooden bars in the door. Itachi was looking at him, but he did not look back. Everything reminded him of the shame he felt that day when Itachi abandoned him to be judged and left alone in a cell.

Sasuke took in a lungful of cold air. It felt good to breathe now. His eyes were downcast as he looked at his pet bird: Kirin was eating a few pieces of meat from his plate. He had left a few to feed it. It was happy as it moved around on his legs and hands, bringing a smile to his face.

He could not move his arm properly. It was still healing, and the pain made him hate his brother even more. He did not know how anguished Itachi was as he stood behind the door, looking at him and his smile; but he had no desire to read Itachi's mind. He wanted him gone.

The bars, this cell . . . it made Itachi remember that day. It was a strange day like this. It was drizzling and evening was nearly upon them all when Mayu's father, Morinaga, came to his house. Her hand was in his tight grip, and she was weeping. He was red in the face, veins bulging out in his neck and temples; his eyes were bloodshot. He looked a bit crazy. His accusation was even crazier . . .

"That is a big accusation," Itachi said, maintaining calm, "my brother would never do something like this."

"Am I lying then? Is my daughter lying?" he shouted in the garden, jerking Mayu by the arm as she rubbed at her swollen eyes with her tiny knuckle.

"He is _just_ a boy," he said in a thick voice, his anger rising. "You expect me to believe that he subdued her, dragged her off somewhere, and had his way with her? Surely, you cannot believe this. It sounds outrageous."

Morinaga looked livid. He let go of his daughter's trembling hand and put his hands to his cheeks; his mouth was half-open as if he was outraged. "Your brother's a prodigy—a powerful shinobi. We all saw how he defeated a grown man in the Chūnin exams. He's no ordinary boy. My daughter's only twelve. She's just an innocent little girl. She's not a shinobi. How hard would it be for him to do that to her? Dear Sage, I've been disgraced. Your brother has shamed my daughter at such a young age. Just look at her," he said in a grating voice and pointed to his daughter.

Mayu hid her red face in her hands, her whole body trembling like a lush summer's leaf in the wind. Itachi looked at her for a few moments, and then fixed the angry man with an indifferent stare.

"Her tears hardly mean that she is also honest. They are children. Children lie. Have you thought about it that, perhaps, she consented and then wanted to hide her disobedience behind a lie?" he asked, his voice flat and cold. Tears never moved him.

Morinaga clenched his jaws together, his red eyes bulging. "My daughter would never do such a thing. It's your brother. He already has a Mangekyō. Sage knows what he did to her," he said in a loud voice that trembled with anger and rubbed his hands vigorously together.

"That is enough," Itachi said and his face hardened. "How dare you pin him with such a sordid crime? Your accusation is preposterous. My brother would never do something so despicable. Your daughter wept and you believed her? She is a mere child and children always lie when they are caught. Is that not true, Mayu?" He turned his face to her, his expression a ghostly veil of frigidness.

Mayu removed her hands from her face. Her breath was still hitched in her chest; she hiccupped a few times, her eyes trying hard to elude his red gaze. Suddenly, Morinaga stepped before her to shield her from his eyes.

"Are you trying to cast a Genjutsu on her?" he asked with a shout, spit flying from his mouth.

"No, I am going to read her mind. Let us see what she has to say," he said and brought the sharp glare of his eyes upon him. He saw the man flinch, but he was stubborn still.

"I won't allow you to rewrite her mind. You have a Mangekyō, too, and you're famous for your Genjutsus. I know what that child means to you. You could kill my daughter to shield him. I won't let you do it," he snarled and clasped his daughter to himself. She was so small that she barely came up to his stomach.

"Morinaga," he spoke in a low threatening voice this time, "you are crossing a line. I will not abide such a repulsive behavior—and in my house? Get out of my sight and take your daughter away to the Elders' house. I will come by in the evening with my brother. I am done speaking to you."

Morinaga mumbled in anger and dragged his weeping daughter away. They disappeared behind the large stone girded with a sacred rope that was decorated with shide. The chilling breeze rustled the branches and blew the dry leaves away. He was only momentarily distracted when a sound from behind made him turn: Sasuke stood in the door. He had just come home from his evening training with Kai and Serizawa.

"Nii-San, why are you standing outside?" he asked in a small voice and looked around. The garden was empty and dry leaves moved in spirals across the ground. He smiled and approached him, his hands shoved in his pockets. There was a shy blush on his face as he looked up to his brother's sober face.

When Itachi did not smile back, his smile faltered and his face turned nervous. His brother always received him with a smile in the evening. It was odd for him to be so cold.

"What's wrong, Nii-San? Are you angry with me?" he asked and grabbed his hand in his.

Itachi pulled in a long and deep breath and spoke: "Sasuke, were you intimate with a young girl? Mayu, was it?"

Sasuke's eyes widened, and he averted his gaze immediately. He pulled his hand back. He looked nervous. Then his expression changed and he frowned and looked back up. "Who told you that? I told her to keep it a secret. Girls, they always lie," he said in anger, and his mouth twisted in a scowl.

Shock crossed Itachi's face. He was not expecting _this_. "Sasuke, you are just a young boy, and already you are sexually active? You are too young. Do you have any idea what you are doing?" he asked, his face enveloped by shock.

"So what? It's only sex," he shot back, looking stubborn, his fingers clenching into fists. "What's the big deal?"

Itachi sat down on one knee and grabbed him by the wrists. "It is a big deal for a boy of twelve. What if she conceives? Have you thought about that? What will you do if that happens?" he asked and watched as the features delicately changed on Sasuke's innocent face.

"Someone told me that you were active when you were thirteen. Why can't I do it, then?" he protested, his eyes wide and hard.

"What is this, a race? You want to best me in everything no matter how terrible it is? Is that how you want to live your life, imitating my every action no matters where it hurls you?" he asked, looking at Sasuke and the flash of innocent confusion coming over his face.

"But you're perfect, Nii-San. You're the best. I want to be just like you," he said with honesty, the corners of his lips curling up in a slow and warm smile.

Anger faded from Itachi's face, and he smiled and brushed Sasuke's black hair away from his forehead. He would just reason with Sasuke. He was too young to understand these things. He brushed away the dirt from that high collar, too. "Change your clothes. We have to be at the Elders' house in the evening," he said and stood up.

"Why?" he asked and stared up as his brother's face that hardened again.

Itachi considered him for a moment, but he did not say anything. Looking back now, he had made a terrible mistake—a really terrible one.

When evening came, they went to the meeting hall in the Elders' home. It was a dark room, barely illuminated by a few lanterns. Shadows were thick and tall all around them. Silence permeated the space like something ominous. Even her cries were muffled and weak.

"She's lying. I did no such thing!" Sasuke shouted and jumped to his feet, his face working into a reflex of cold fury, his fists shaking.

"He—he—" Mayu cried and hid behind her father.

"Shut up, you dirty little wench!" he snarled, his face set, and his jaw twisted. "I'll break your bones. You better tell the truth."

"Sasuke, behave yourself. You can talk without using such crass language. Do not shame me in front of the Elders," Itachi spoke and grabbed him by the wrist. He tried to pull him back down but he would not budge.

"But she's lying, Nii-San. She asked me to have sex with her every night. And now look at her—playing the role of an innocent virgin," he said as his face continued to work with anger.

Itachi parted his mouth to speak, but one of the Elders Nomura forestalled him: "I will just read her mind. Children really should be taught to obey and recognize restrictions. Itachi, you have been lax with him. This is not the way to bring up young Uchiha boys who will bear the torch of the clan," he spoke slowly and gestured with his hand for Mayu to come to him.

Itachi let go of Sasuke's hand and bowed. "I apologize. It will not happen again," he said with sincerity.

"It will not," he said and gently grabbed Mayu by the shoulders. She was still shivering.

"What are you suggesting?" he asked and lifted his questioning eyes to him. His fingers contracted and formed fists on his thighs.

"If her accusation turns out right, then he will be put in a cell for three years and disciplined. You are from the Head-house. You know better than anyone else," he said calmly and gestured the girl to sit down before him.

"You cannot be serious?" he asked in a grave voice, his eyes moving to the right to look at his grandmother's heavily wrinkled face. She was staring down at her rough hands in her lap, distraught. Her frown was deeper than usual; her thin mouth, twisted down.

"Itachi, you know the precepts," Nomura spoke and clasped his hands together, his Mangekyō out. It had a strange spoke-like pattern to it. It whirled in his eyes just like his, and his own resonated with it. Suddenly, as if a hot wave ran through the room, the occupants had their Sharingans' pulsing with almost everyone else's. Several pairs of red eyes glowed in the dark, trying to keep the darkness at bay.

"I know the precepts. It is just a couple of months for a boy so young, and it is not up to you to discipline him," Itachi spoke slowly with an air of danger about him.

"Calm down, Itachi. We are only deliberating," another elder said from the left. The darkness gave him a subtle cover, his voice weak and wobbly with age—years had taken such a toll on his body and tongue.

"I am perfectly calm," he said, the black shurikens spinning with severe precision in his eyes. Sasuke's anger had vanished; he was afraid now. Sasuke's hand was clamped on Itachi's shoulder, and he could feel Sasuke's fingers trembling through the thick material of his office shirt.

Nomura cleared his throat and blinked. "You are the Head's son and are to take his place. The rules are strict if the Head family falters. It is only—"

"I am not a Head, and I have not given my consent on this matter. My father is also dead. It is nothing but an empty title now," he said calmly. "You should read her mind. I have more pressing issues to attend rather than watch her weep and brew up a storm."

Nomura considered him for a moment and smiled. He stayed silent and looked into the girl's eyes. It did not take long for him to break apart her thoughts and read it all. After a second, he blinked and met Itachi's cold eyes. "She is telling the truth," he said and gasps rose in the room. The silence was broken, and all Itachi could hear were murmurs. The shame was unbearable. Sweat broke out on his face. The character of his features showed nothing but pure shock.

He got to his feet and looked down to Sasuke: his eyes were wide and he was shaking. "H-He's lying, Nii-San, I didn't do it. I swear it, Nii-San, I didn't do it. I'm telling the truth," he pleaded, his eyes wide with denial.

Itachi's face was so hard and cold, but he did not say anything. He grabbed Sasuke by the arm and dragged him harshly out of the room, leaving the sharp sting of voices behind. Sasuke kept pleading in a shaky voice, but he did not listen. He did not say a word and dragged him all the way to the empty cell.

"Open it," he bit out harshly and the guard obliged. He fumbled with the keys and opened the heavy padlocks on the door.

"Nii-San, I swear it, I didn't do it," he said, and his voice cracked with fear. He was on the verge of tears now, looking from his hard face to the darkness at the back of the empty cell.

The guard opened the door, and Itachi pushed him in. Sasuke staggered forward but quickly regained his balance as the door was closed behind him. He spun around and mashed himself against the wooden door, his fingers knotted around the bars as firmly as that of a man's.

"Nii-San, please, I didn't do it. Don't do this, Nii-San—" He stretched his arm out of the bars, his hand reaching out to him.

"How could you do this, Sasuke? You have shamed me. Is that how you return my love? You have humiliated me. You have no idea what you have done. I will never be able to wash this taint clean from my reputation. Is that what you desired, tell me? Are you content now? I am ashamed to call you my brother," he said through clenched teeth, watching Sasuke's young face work with something other than sadness: it was anger . . . disappointment.

The anger was so immediate that Sasuke felt a lump come up to his throat. The fleeting sting of tears in his eyes was forgotten. They never made it to his cheeks, and his face trembled. "I hate you," he hissed and pulled his hands back in. "If you don't believe me, then go away. I don't need you." He slinked back into the darkness, and Itachi did not know what to say.

He could see Sasuke no more: he had retreated into the arms of darkness. Even the glow of his red eyes vanished. He stood there for several seconds, his Sharingan gone. It was as though it could not bear what he felt. He slowly turned around and left. His heart was in such pain that he did not know what to do.

When night fell, it brought with itself such a heavy burden that it was impossible for him to close his eyes and rest for even a few fleeting moments. Three years . . . he would not be able to see him, his own brother and his only family, for three years? It was such a long time. What did they expect from him? Was it a test? Itachi sat in his office chair, his eyes open. He had not been able to do any office work. His mind was a chaotic mess.

Had Sasuke eaten anything? Was he hungry? His face flashed before his eyes over and over again. There was such innocence on his face and sadness in his shaky voice. But what he had done . . . was it forgivable? He could not find an answer. A wave of emotion washed over him, and he crumbled under it so completely. Love was beyond morals. It was beyond its shores, and he was such a lost traveller riding its waves for as long as he could remember. Its waves rose into choppy combers, and the rush of briny wind was so soothing.

When Sasuke had opened his eyes for the first time to gaze upon him and the world, he knew—he just knew—he had to protect him. Love him. Guide him. He was his child. He always had been. Love was blind and his was blinder still. He did not want any reason lighting its dark corridors. It was meant to be bereft of reason.

Reason polluted love. They were never meant to be together. Love was only love if it was without reason, without condition. If such chains were attached to its flesh, it was no longer love; it was pretend-play; it was a lie.

Itachi rose up—his mind made. Sasuke was a young boy, he reasoned with himself. He had made a terrible mistake. He would learn. He was still a mere child. With such a self-satisfying reason in mind, he left the office and started walking to the cell. He was going to get him out and take him home. He would punish him, but he would not leave him to rot alone in a cell. As boy so young, he did not deserve it. If he did not protect him, then who would?

He drew up short of the girl, Mayu, sitting alone on the well outside the Elders' manor. Her father was still inside. Her small feet were hanging above the ground, and she was speaking to a doll in her hand. He approached her, his Sharingan out. The crunch of the dry leaves under his sandals made her look up. That girlish smile faded from her lips, and a look of terror passed over her face. She hopped off the well and made to dash inside when Itachi grabbed her.

"You are _such_ a little liar, are you not?" he asked and sat down, her tiny arms in his tight grasp, his voice so cold and his face angry.

A scream swelled in her throat, but she did not get a chance to let it out. He saw the whole thing. His Genjutsu was so powerful that her eyes rolled back into her head, and when he let her go, she collapsed to the ground and frothed at the mouth. Had he used his Mangekyō, it would have snuffed her tiny life out in less than a heartbeat.

"You almost passed the trial, Itachi. But that boy means so much to you, I suppose," the voice said from behind him, and he stood up and turned around.

"You lied. Why would you do such a despicable thing?" Itachi asked; his face was touched by raw anger, and he was barely able to contain it.

The wind was so cold, but his heart was colder still. He was so angry. The feeling shuddered through him that he felt the chill on his body so clearly. It was like ice on fire. Blood pounded in his ears, and his heart took to thundering. Such cold anger flowed through his veins that its powerful surge was difficult to suppress.

"Her neighbour saw them in the library. She told her father. He would have beaten her with a thick wooden stick they keep in the garden. She was afraid, so she lied. Children lie," Nomura said and tilted his head to look at the girl convulsing on the ground; her ordeal had still not passed—Itachi had been ruthless. "I wanted to see if you would value precepts over your brother.

"You always have put them above Clan and family, but Sasuke makes you falter so much. Your love for the boy is truly admirable. It surprises me that you were willing to rewrite her memory just now to save your brother. I did not think a cold, merciless man like you had such a soft heart for the boy—you have disappointed and shocked me a little," he said and smiled a little to soften the look of disappointment in his face.

"He is _just_ a child," he said in cold anger, his hot eyes pinning him in place like a sharp sword. "You have filled his heart with distrust. You have poisoned it against me. How could you do this to him just to test me? Your methods are distasteful."

Nomura's smile faded. He looked taken aback. "Perhaps I should not have done this, but you are unfit to take over the seat as a Head. You talk of disgust, Itachi, but you never did anything for your own slain family, either. It was the repute of the village that made you bury it deep into the ground and forget it. The boy has suffered so much at your hands. How many times have you filled his head with pretty illusions? He hardly ever talks about them anymore when he used to weep so much not that long ago," he said in a calm voice, his long robes flowing in the wind that he looked as if he was floating on water.

Mist rose between them and wind stopped. It was so quiet all of a sudden, and when Itachi breathed out, he could hear no sound but his own. "Is it really about the seat? If you desire it, then all you had to do was ask. I would have satisfied your curiosity and greed," he said, holding his hard gaze.

Nomura emitted a soft, low laugh. "No, this was never about the seat. I have simply never considered you apt for the position. You are too . . . cold, too cruel, too invested in the village rather than your own clan—your own people. You did not even listen to your own brother. It was his absence that thawed your heart. If he is not absent, I doubt you think of him so much or value his worries. Is that not so?" he asked and kept the hint of amusement out of his voice this time.

"You pretend to know me. It is rather amusing," Itachi said with a flicker of a smile and turned around to walk away when his words stopped him again.

"It is not that hard to know you," Nomura paused to breathe in the cool air about him, "I know you do not hold your own clan in such a high regard before the village's precepts. But you do not even think too highly of it before your brother. How selfish and odd is your wavering mind? You just thrash back and forth between the two like a fish. You should choose one and cling to it. This flip-flopping will only get your brother killed." His words wafted to him upon the soft wind, and he heard them loud and clear.

He chose to keep his words to himself and left for the cell. It was so dark when he climbed down the stairs. The flames in the lanterns were guttering. They needed more oil to burn. He could not see anything at the back of the cell. The guard opened it at his command, and he stepped inside; a thick wall of shadow stood before him.

He did not want to take out his Sharingan, so he peered at the back and found his brother sitting in the corner. His knees were drawn to his chest, and he had his arms curled about them. His head was resting on his knees. A tray was set by his feet. The food had gone cold; he had not touched it.

"Sasuke, I have come to take you home," he said softly and sat down beside him. He stretched his hand and stroked his dishevelled hair.

"Go away. I don't want to talk to you. Leave me alone," he said in a choked voice, his lips shuddering.

"Do not forgive me if you do not want to. But come with me. You can stay with Obā-San. I will not stop you," he said and grabbed him by the arm.

Sasuke snatched his arm away roughly and raised his head. His face was red with anger. He rose up and rushed out of the cell without him. He sat there alone in silence for a few minutes, his eyes searching for something aimlessly in the dark. At last, he got to his feet and made his way home.

The wind was harsher now as it hissed in his ears. It was such a liar like him, like Nomura . . . like everyone else; but his brother was still pure, and he had destroyed his trust. His thoughts flit from memory to memory. His mind did not linger on anything long enough to relive those moments again. By the time he got home, Sasuke had already left for their grandmother's house. He did not speak to him for months. His anger was always difficult to thaw. It was not till he gifted him Kirin that he came around.

Itachi was still looking intently at Sasuke, his mind caught up in a delightful web of memories no man was safe from, when Serizawa's voice broke his thoughts. "Itachi-Sama, your grandmother is here. She says she wants to meet you," he said and watched Itachi's expression subtly change.

"Close this portal," he commanded and left the underground prison. It was raining in the garden and the ground was soggy. When he opened the front door of the manor he found his grandmother standing with her back to the door. She was poking at the Uchiha symbol in front of her.

"Obā-San, you could have asked for me. You did not have to come all the way here," he said and closed the door.

The old woman turned around, and her heavily wrinkled face gathered itself into a pleasant smile. She was a small woman with a great stoop to her back. Her family had named her Rao when she was born. "I just wanted to see you, Itachi. It has been so long," she said in such a small voice weakened by age and time. She held out her trembling hand, and Itachi quickly took off his sandals. He stepped onto the manor's floor and took her hand in his—hers shivered in his grasp.

"Let me take you to your room," he said and bent down a little to curl an arm around her back. He led her slowly to her room. She did not live with them: she had her own house behind the large sacred stone; but whenever she visited, she stayed in the room they kept clean for her.

Rao took slow careful steps. Her body was fragile. She suffered from cold last year. They did not think she would survive, but she was strong. She had seen the deaths of her husband and all her sons and lived through them. There was nothing more life could have taken from her—nothing more than Itachi, perhaps.

She sat down slowly upon the futon and adjusted her kimono. Her small eyes glinted on her face as she smiled. "Come here. Sit," she said and slapped her hand once on the wooden floor.

"I will ask the servant to prepare tea for you. I have to leave. There is a lot of pending office work. If I do not go—"

"Anbu will not stop working if you stay with me here today. I have asked Serizawa to take your application to Tsunade. Come here. Put that sword away. Let me take a good look at you. I have not seen you in weeks," she said in such an anguished voice that it disturbed that little smile on her aged face.

Itachi unbuckled the sheath and put it on the heavy set of drawers standing next to him. He took few steps and sat down before her with his legs folded underneath his thighs. Her trembling hands reached out and touched his face. She leant forward and pressed her lips to his forehead, and she held the kiss long, breathing in the smell of his skin and hair.

"Such a beautiful boy," Rao said and passed her rough hand across his cheeks. "You look just like Mafuyu. Even your nose is the same." She emitted a soft laugh.

Itachi smiled. His grandmother doted on him. She told him often how he reminded her of her oldest son, Mafuyu. He died in the First Great Ninja War. He was only twenty-two. If he had lived, he would have been thirty years older than Fugaku. She loved him more than her other children. She could not bear the grief his death brought her, and it drove her mad. She used to run out of the house at night to dig him up from the grave. They locked her up in those days, and it took years for her to regain her sanity. Fugaku was the youngest to meet his end. She was just used to the deaths of her children now . . .

When Itachi was born, she told her youngest one that Mafuyu had come back to her. It was just love, but she secretly believed it to be true. So she loved him will all her heart. She would carry him around in her home and tell him stories she told Mafuyu. He was such a brilliant child. He used to stare at her wide-eyed, listening to the old folktales as though he enjoyed them, understood them. He never cried for milk. He would part his lips a little when he got thirsty, and would she call Mikoto to feed him. Such a quiet babe he was.

He gummed away on her soft nipple. He never bit her when he grew tiny teeth in his mouth. Sasuke did that often. He was feisty even when he was young, but he never wept and complained when he was in Itachi arms.

"You did not come here just to see me, Obā-San. You send in missives to show your displeasure," he said, smiling.

"You clever child," she said and pinched his cheek. "I came here to speak to you about the coming ceremony. Missives have been coming to my home. You never respond. You have not changed your mind, have you?" She pressed her quivering knuckle to her lips and coughed into it. It was difficult for her to talk so much. She was out of breath now.

Itachi exhaled and looked down, his fingers clenching on his thighs. "I really have not decided yet," he said honestly and listened to her draw breaths loudly.

"Itachi, there is no one better than you for the position. The Elders' feel the same. I know you have never forgiven Nomura, but he resigned. No one would ever test you in such a manner. I give you my word," she managed with great difficulty, her tiny hand stroking his hair.

"I cannot ignore Sasuke just for the position. He needs me," he said and lifted his eyes to look into her black ones that had long since lost the glimmer of youth.

"Heart is a difficult place, is it not?" she asked, and he suddenly looked a little curious in his own way. "I do not have enough space inside it beyond you . . . and Mafuyu. And you do not want Sasuke to leave its chambers. But we have to live our life, do we not? We have to make compromises. You can still lead this Clan and love Sasuke. Care for him. Protect him. But the people need someone to guide them. You have denied this position for so long. I want you to take it—if not for the Clan, then for me, for Sasuke."

Itachi was silent, his eyes downcast, the character of his features affected by mild confusion. She kept looking at him and tucked his hair behind the right ear as if he was a wee boy.

"What troubles you? Tell me," she asked and let out a wheezing breath.

"If I take this position, I will be burdened even more. I can barely control Sasuke now. I will have to manage Anbu, as well. I cannot do this much, especially not at the cost of his safety. He has grown so disobedient. He does not listen to me anymore. With this position comes a political responsibility. Who will watch over Sasuke? Who will keep him out of trouble? I cannot take this risk. You ask so much of me," he said, his voice firm.

Rao regarded him with fond and soft eyes and remained silent for a few moments. She cupped her chin and spoke, "if you do not take this position, then it goes to Sasuke. He has Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan—such rare eyes. He is so clever, powerful, and does not think highly of the village."

Itachi's eyes hardened. "Sasuke is so young for such a task. He is _just_ a child. It would put him in danger. I will never allow it," he said a little harshly, his fingers clenching on his thighs.

"Someone has to take the seat. It has been left empty for years. If not you, then another prodigy would do. He is also so brilliant. Orochimaru did not request of you to allow Sasuke to become his student without reason. Everyone talked. You allowed it, and he honed his skills more under his care—became more powerful. Many Elders value such strength. Sasuke never cared much for the village. The rumours about treason only fanned his hate. People can use it. Do you really desire that for Sasuke?" she asked with a trembling mouth. The sagging skin around it shuddered with emotion.

"He is rash and he is so young . . . and he is so innocent. I do not desire this for him. You and the Elders are not being fair. Not to me. Not to him. Where is the reason in this? I take the seat and I would not be able to protect him as I do now. If I do not, he takes the seat and gets himself killed over vengeance. I do not win either way—" he stopped before he could say any more. The anger rose and rose in him like a wild flame. It touched his face and it changed ever so slightly under its influence.

Rao was looking at him and the mild pink hue in his cheeks. Her rough fingers were pressed to her thin lips; her bright eyes twinkled in the light of the lantern. She moved her eyes and looked at the paper screen in the door. It wore dull shadows of bonsai trees in the garden. Soft sounds of drizzle broke the silence in the room. It was suddenly filled with the musky smell of earth.

She breathed in a lungful of that smell, and a cool wave rushed through her. In her old age, such small things were enough to calm her body and mind. She felt a shiver jolt her for a few seconds before she pressed her hands together to feel the fleeting sense of warmth her old body could provide. It had long since given up on the heat of youth—a forgotten memory of her body.

Itachi looked down at the cold hearth beside him. He spat out a small flame, and the hearth was warm again. A trail of smoke rose up from the coals. The rising heat touched her cold skin and imbued it with warmth. The blood was cold and slow in her veins now. Years did that to people; it was not a new tale.

"I understand your grievances, Itachi, my beautiful boy," she said heavily, her eyes wandering over his face, "but it will give you more political power. It will elevate your political status and put you in the same seat as the village Elders. You do not think it will aid you in any manner?"

"In the past, Hiruzen denied it as the acting Hokage. Minato was no less cold to this proposal. Has Tsunade really reconsidered to allow us such a position? It certainly is not in my knowledge," he said and met Rao's warm eyes with expressionless ones, his face blank. The light in the hearth broke his face into dull patterns of light and shadow.

"She has," she said, "her missive allows you to become the right arm of the Hokage. She was most considerate in burying old records. No one knows what happened in the Police Force. It was an unfortunate incident for most, and it will remain that way. The taint of treason does not remain. It was always a rumour, but now, it is just a story. Will this sway you?"

Itachi put his hand upon his eyes. He knew that his threats towards Sakura and Danzō's shady activities against her political reign had a lot to do with her decision than her kind heart. She wanted him on her side to deal with Danzō, and he needed her to bring him down before his brother was caught in his schemes.

He gave a slow nod and sighed. It was no use. It was either him or Sasuke. It was better this way. She coughed into her hands, straightened her bent shoulders, and sucked in another whistling breath to speak: "you will have to take a wife, too. No need to rush. There are many girls in the clan who desire you."

"It is a little soon for that," he said, meeting her small, deep eyes. Age had honed them in a different manner. They were filled with honest emotions. She was not like him; she did not know how to hide them as they hovered in and out of her eyes—like wavering shafts of soft light.

Rao bent forward and took his hand in hers. "It is, but we all must compromise from time to time. I have selected Izumi. She is a lovely girl, and she adores you so much. She would make a good obedient wife."

"Izumi? Sasuke . . . dislikes her. He could never stand her silly, girlish mannerisms and exaggerated confessions of love for me in those secret missives. They irritated him. He will never accept her," he said in a flat tone of voice.

"But you?" she asked and pulled his hand up to press kisses to his fingers.

"I do not feel anything particular for her. She is a child who has yet locate wisdom. I just find her strange," he said, his voice unchanging.

Rao pressed her hand to her heaving breast and let out a laugh that left her shuddering. "She has still kept herself pure for you, but your heart is so small for anyone else, Itachi. You can keep her for an heir. You do not even have to marry her. And if she displeases you, you have the right to send her away. Just get this ceremony matter out of the way. That is all I ask," she said and cupped his face in her small hands.

Itachi looked back at her and her warm eyes silently. He still had to ask for Sasuke's vote and approval; and asking him anything now, especially about Izumi and the Head seat, meant nothing but trouble . . .

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	41. The Increasing Tear

**Chapter Forty-One** : The Increasing Tear

 **AN** : The family set-up, sexual relations, and the concept of an heir in the Uchiha Clan are similar to the ones practiced in the **Heian Period** before more stringent rules were introduced in the later periods, especially the **Edo Period**. You'll have to do a little research on this.

Also, I have specified the ages of the characters, but I believe a reminder is in order, regardless:

Uchiha Sasuke: 21, Uchiha Itachi: 29, Hyūga Hinata: 24, Uzumaki Naruto: 24, Haruno Sakura: 25, Hyūga Neji: 22, Uzumaki Karin: 25, Hōzuki Suigetsu: 25, Jūgo: 26.

Naruto, along with Hinata, will turn twenty-five soon as the story (mostly) takes place in the autumn season.

# # # # # #

Hands joined in front as if in a prayer, her Byakugan on. An undulating wind blew sheets of water from the lake that burst into a shower of countless drops upon the desolate shore. It was strong as it swept against her, unrelenting. She held her eyes steady. The path was lost. Everything was churned to mud by her feet.

Oh, the mighty roar of thunder, a cracking sound, and the rumble of rocks dropping a few feet behind her gave her a start. She jumped a little despite having seen them fall down one by one behind her back. She was still such a scaredy cat; but she had honed that dull and shivering thing a bit and pulled out a small semblance of courage from her spirit.

She breathed in deep and loud, the air cold in her warm lungs, her face wet and rosy. Suddenly, rain mellowed and wind relented, defeated before the weak sun. Waves still leapt up and crashed onto the stones, making slapping sounds against pebbles and rocks. She quickly moved behind the cover of a thick tree when she saw a few men appear from beyond the thicket of trees. They were moving fast towards them—bandits!

Neji stood a few feet away from her, his face tense, veins bulging around his eyes. His hair was stuck to the side of his face. Behind her stood Suigetsu. He was wearing a thick water-repellent cloak. The cowl was pulled over his forehead, his eyes fixed on the path in front of him, and his fingers curled tightly around the sword's hilt in his hand.

Something flew to her head, and she ducked in time: it was a sharp blade attached to a long chain. It speared through the tree, sticking out from the other end. They had planned to ambush them, but one of them was probably a Sensor. She twisted her neck and looked up, her hands slipping in the mud, but there was no time.

Hinata stood up as fast as she could, her palm out, and her shaking arm stretched. She saw them all: five men armed to the teeth. They jumped and stood on the branches high up in the trees and looked down. She raised her head, her eyes catching the cool droplets and misting over. One of them flashed down, and damn, he was fast!

Sword clashed with sword and Suigetsu's cloak floated behind him. He had a grin on his face. He swung his sword wide and sent the man flying back. He slipped and skidded on the ground like a ragdoll and rolled slowly to stand up, but Suigetsu pinned him to the ground. He got slammed back down—blood, fresh and hot, shot up and soaked Suigetsu's face and clothing.

The man's face warped with an intense pain of death, and then the expression slightly faded: his eyes dimmed, and just like that, he was dead. Suigetsu licked his lips. His face was washed clean by the rain. He spat pink when the diluted blood went into his mouth. His grin was widening, showing more and more of his pointy teeth.

Suigetsu leapt up and began clashing with another bandit. His sword glanced against his forehead and drew blood. He jerked his head back and stumbled back in pain but rushed at Suigetsu again. His teeth clenched together, his face a knot of contorted rage. That sharp blade gleamed in the soft light of the sun.

The man swished his blade in the air as though he was swatting flies. Suigetsu was chuckling. Neji was handling two bandits with ease. The first one foolishly rushed at him and Neji closed his sixty-four chakra points in two heartbeats. He was really fast. He struck his heart with Air-Palm, and the man got blasted off his feet. He crashed into the tree some forty feet away, with blood dribbling from his mouth. A moment later, he went completely still.

Hinata was still not used to this . . . strange life. Five years inside the claustrophobic walls of her home had made her afraid to tread too far, to venture away from the place where she felt safe. It was a house where she was a prisoner who felt a sense of familiarity with the pots, the smell of earth as it would float in through the window at night, the soothing sounds of a slow rush of water running down the slopes. She had, somehow, accepted that life.

Now, standing amid the wilderness, shivering with something of a delicious feeling of fear, Hinata's eyes locked with the man's in a steady gaze. His eyes were hard as stone; she could not escape their intensity. She moved her arms and settled into a defensive stance, and the man charged. She swiveled around him and tried to hit the chakra points in his arm—she missed. He was faster than she had imagined.

He spun away to the right and whipped around with a wide, sweeping strike of his blade. She jerked her head back and hopped back and curled her cold fingers into fists to create Lion-Fists. Chakra fizzled around her hands and took on the fuzzy shape of lions' heads. They looked better than last time. They were like two gauzy, misshapen puppets.

Hinata put her right fist out when she saw him coming to her. She was ready this time. She did not give him time to make a strike and did a stabbing movement, hitting his right arm. She blocked the chakra points close to his elbow and sucked in a bit of his chakra. His arm went limp. A shocked expression crossed his face that quickly turned into a look of rage and shame.

He went at her again, relentless to cut off her head. With the swing of his other arm, he moved the sharp sword to sever her hand. She staggered to the side, almost slipping in the mud. A near miss! Her pounding, thundering heart came to her throat. It was no use. There was no time to calm her heart and feel its uncertain heartbeats become steady.

The sounds of grunts and clashing swords did not matter to Hinata. They were overpowered by the blood roaring in her ears. To stare in the face of death . . . was a surreal feeling that made her tingle with an exquisite sense of fear, and that little heart jumped and jumped repeatedly at its continual calls. It felt as though it desired to be free of that bony-cage. Taking a deep breath in, she steadied herself and slipped aside to evade his forward slash that missed her and cut a long gash in the tree's bark.

She spun around fully and quickly landed several hits on his other arm. It, too, went limp, and the sword dropped from his loose grip, his hands trembling, his face working with a kind of panic as he stared back at her dumbfounded. She shot her arm forward and hit him with Air-Palm that sent him sprawling to the ground. He tried to get up but could not.

Hinata breathed in a loud sigh when someone pushed her from behind, and she staggered forward and fell down. Her face landed into the mud. She heard a small laugh from behind her. She strained her neck and supported herself on her elbows. It was Neji. He stood with a warm smile on his face. Two dead men lay by his feet.

"You still have to learn a lot," he said and held out his hand. "You may be able to see everything around you with your eyes, but you don't acknowledge it. You did good!"

Hinata wiped at her face and took his hand. She got to her shaky feet with a sheepish grin on her face. Suigetsu jumped down and tilted his head a little to look at the last bandit. "What 'bout 'im? Should I kill 'im or is the cold boss interested in a worthless thief?" he asked and moved his tongue across his shiny teeth.

"Itachi-Sama said to bring all of them in for interrogation—but they attacked us, so it can't be helped," he said and looked down to his feet at the contorted faces of two bandits. "Only one of them survived. It's better than nothing."

"Better than nothin', eh? I ain't takin' the blame for this. Ya better be ready for some scoldin', mate," he said and pushed the large sword into the sheath. "Am so 'fraid that me flaccid cock might just drop off. Boss is a lil' crazy—okay, he's a fuckin' nutter. Best be prepared because lil' ol' Suigetsu will just say that ya told us to." He wagged his fingers at him as if he was reproaching him for being a disobedient little boy.

"You can, Suigetsu," Neji said and gave a slow shake of his head. "Just take him to Anbu Headquarters. The interrogation team will handle it."

Suigetsu gave a loud whistle and approached the man. He grabbed him by the arm and roughly pulled him up to his feet. "Don't resist, man, or I'll just cut yor head off and say that Neji told us to," he said and dragged him forward. "Come along, don't be shy. Don't keep the boss waitin'. He may look like those fuckin' lovely lookin', eternal cock-blockers, but he's a nasty man."

Suigetsu disappeared behind the rippling walls of mist. The wind was gone. The forest was suddenly silent, and the glow of rocks around them returned. It was a bizarre grey colour that made everything look bleak and dreary. Hinata took in a single breath and brought her eyes upon Neji—he was sitting down and examining the corpses.

"H-Have I passed?" she asked, hesitant.

Neji looked up at her. The brownish freckles looked so apparent on his white face now. "I think you have, Hinata-Sama," he said with a gentle smile on his face.

A warm smile broke across her scared face. "Will I be promoted now?" she asked and put her hands to her breast.

"That's up to Sasuke-Sama," he said and dropped his eyes to the headband of the bandit. "He can promote you if he finds your progress satisfactory."

Hinata felt a pleasant gust of cool wind upon her face; it was like something cool was sliding down across something so warm. She had not seen him for weeks. Had he forgotten about her? She bit her lower lip and turned her face away. She did everything he had asked and still . . . still he was so aloof, so cold. She wanted a place in his heart—a tiny place. Was it too much to ask?

She had given him all of her heart—every chamber. She wanted him to love her, be kind to her, make her feel . . . loved. Almost thoughtlessly, she lowered her eyes. She desired him so much that she had never desired anything before. It was almost childish. She was like a child, and he, her favourite toy. She wanted to play with him whenever her heart wanted; it was selfish; it was no lie. When the dull ache consumed her, she wanted him to satisfy her passions, and yet . . . and yet, he played hide and seek with her, always. He was not being fair. He was not acting like the favourite toy she wanted him to become.

"Where is he?" she asked in a small, uncertain voice, her head down, her eyes hidden behind her long bangs.

"He got injured during a mission. He broke his arm and ribs. He's recuperating. He should be back in a week," he said and raised his head to meet her wide eyes.

"Is he all right?" she asked suddenly, her voice a little loud.

Neji smiled. "He's all right. I visited him last night. His arm is still a bit broken. He won't be able to leave the manor because of the Head ceremony, but he's all right," he said and looked curiously at her. That smile was still upon his lips.

"I-I see," she mumbled and looked down to her fingers clasped together nervously. "Is Itachi-Sama taking over the seat?"

"Yes," he said and wiped his face on his sleeve. "It's not really a surprise. He was the most suitable candidate for the seat. Some people wanted Sasuke-Sama to be one, but he's too young and Itachi-Sama wouldn't have allowed it, anyway." His soft voice faded in the patter of drizzle, and then he went about his business of examining the corpses again.

"Can he force him like this?" she asked, her face tightening in something of a scowl. She hated Itachi.

He let out a soft laugh. "He's the eldest son of the Uchiha Clan's Head. Fugaku-Sama passed away, but all his power and authority went to him. Itachi-Sama's vote matters a lot in all Clan affairs. It carries so much weight. He can forbid Sasuke-Sama from becoming a Head and he won't be able to do anything about it. He can put all kinds of restrictions on him. His position gives him the right, but Sasuke-Sama can't do that in return. It's just the way it is amongst the Uchihas. With this new position, his political power has greatly increased in and out of the clan. Our Clan works a little differently, Hinata-Sama," he said and his smile faded a little.

"Please, don't—don't use that honorific. You're no longer the Head of a Branch Family. It doesn't exist anymore. I don't like it. Call me by my name," she said, and her face suddenly flushed. She averted his eyes and felt his shocked gaze burning over her face. He did not say anything for several seconds, and that silence made her a little nervous.

"Thank you, Hinata," he whispered and got to his feet. "We only needed one vote from the Head family and you came to my aid. I'll always be grateful to you."

Hinata heard a small whistling sound of the wind, and the mist dispersed for just a fleeting moment as if lifting the curtain of distance between them. She saw his face so clearly now. Those memories had long since faded, but it did not seem right to bury and forget them. Her heart throbbed, and she felt longing and sadness wash through her. It would have been better had her father wedded her off to him, but it was all in the past. It was pointless to think that way now. The thought brought a sigh to her lips, and she surrendered to this fate—the only thing she could do.

"That was the only thing I could give. I'm sorry that I couldn't be of any more help. I . . . " she paused, breathing in to find that small wind of courage, ". . . I'm sorry. If Sasuke—Sasuke-Sama hadn't asked me, I wouldn't even have known about it. I've been so self-centered. I hope you forgive me …" Her eyes suddenly glistened with tears, and she looked down.

"Hinata, it's not your fault. I have …"

"But it is," she cut him off, her cheeks red with emotions. "It is, Neji. I could've talked to father. But I was always chasing after Naruto-Kun—always worried about myself. I never once asked you about your worries. It was selfish. I admit it. I should've done it a lot sooner. You didn't deserve this. I hope . . . I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me . . . " and she spoke no more.

He looked shocked. He was silent and did not know what to say. They stood there in the rising mist, eyes locked to each other like a sturdy iron clasp, and she felt something stir in her, and she did not know why . . .

# # # # # #

The same dimly lit room, and the same people. He could see every wrinkle, every twisted hair on their decrepit faces. The drooping eyes of one man bored a hole into him when he glared up at him, but it was not like it even mattered. It was not as though he was there of his own free will. So he sat silently, looking at the soothing, dim orange-light of the only lantern in the room. It was like these men loved darkness. It was a cover for them—an act of deception.

Two large pots were set before Sasuke and Itachi. His older brother was silent, dressed in a traditional kimono and Hakama with a black haori. The cloth was embroidered with coloured threads to create the fan symbols close to each sleeve. He was forced to wear one; it was an important day, after all. He wanted to scoff. He had no desire to come to this ceremony, but he was made to . . .

Finally, another man cast the vote in the pot and exited the room through a sliding door to the right. A steady stream of men came in and went. It was a silly way to cast votes: one pot for yes and one pot for no. Yes, it really was that simple. Time went by and darkness came rushing in. It was almost pitch black behind the partition screen: its bright colours were but a faded tale in the shadows. He could see nary a thing around the altar behind the Elders' backs.

His grandmother, Rao, sat opposite Itachi. Her small eyes were bent upon his face, and he could see such warmth in them. Sasuke knew she loved his brother dearly. She favoured him so much—just like his parents. Mild anger faded from his face, and it gave way to sadness, bitterness. Suddenly, he wanted to fly out of the room. Sitting so close to him . . . it was making him nauseous.

Trapped inside his own thoughts, he had little idea when the last vote was cast. A swell of murmurs rose up into the air, and one by one, every single man left. The only ones left in the room were Sasuke, Itachi, and Rao. Sasuke parted his lips to let out the rising anger when the door slid open and Izumi toddled in. She brought with herself a sharp smell of perfume and he coughed—the foolish woman.

Sasuke's pupils thinned into slits of red, his Sharingan pulsing. He always disliked her. He watched as she sat down beside Rao and lowered her eyes and head in shyness. And he could just barely stop himself from mocking her. His eyes cooled off on their own. His brother gave no indication that he saw her; his eyes were focused on the fan patterns on the pots; his face was completely expressionless.

Time slowed down to a crawl, and he just wanted to leaves the claustrophobic confines of this room. "Is it done? Can I leave?" he asked in a harsh voice, and his jaws clenched. That arm was still hurting him. It was secured in a cast from his shoulder to the tip of his still-broken bones—bent in an L-shape to mend the bones. He still felt a sharp pain flood his body whenever he moved it a little.

"Cast your vote and you can leave," Itachi said softly, turning his head a little to look at his face shrouded in the darkness. Itachi's Sharingan was on, and Sasuke knew that he could see him clearly in the dark.

Sasuke looked down. A small paper was still lying in his lap. He raised his head, and his expression changed. He was angry now. "Why does it even matter? Most people voted in your favour. Why do you need my approval?" he asked, his tone grating, rough.

Itachi was silent. Sasuke waited for him to say something. When Itachi chose silence, he got to his feet and scrunched up the paper in his hand. His face showed nothing but hate and anger. He would never forgive him for what he did to him. He hated him. The cast of his gaze drew nothing but disgust from his every fiber, every bit of his heart. Sasuke stared down at his calm eyes with such hot ferociousness that it surprised him that he ever loved him—looked up to him.

"I'm not casting any vote," he hissed in anger and threw the paper down at him, "you do as you please. Take this cheap harlot as your wife, too. I'm sure there will be plenty more waiting in line." A harsh, mocking smile broke out on his sallow face and it stayed there.

A small frown creased Itachi's face, but he did not look angry. "Sasuke, behave yourself. Do not talk that way in front of Obā-San," he spoke in a calm voice. His anger was having little effect on him, and suddenly, Sasuke wanted to get a rise out of him, break his calm, and shatter that fake mask of care and love he wore upon his face like a kabuki theater actor—daily. Itachi was just a charlatan, and he was no longer fond of his games.

"Why, do you dislike my honesty? Do you want lies, Itachi?" he asked and watched, with near child-like satisfaction, as shock flickered across his brother's face. His grandmother gasped behind her quivering, old hands. He had dropped that barrier of respect; he had never spoken to his brother without an honorific—never.

"Sasuke, what is the matter with you? It is just a vote. I am not even asking you to vote in my favour. Do you really have to behave in such an ill-mannered way just to get back at me?" he asked in disbelief and slowly got to his feet, and Sasuke hated it when he saw that he was still shorter than him . . . short enough to carry the heavy feeling of his shadow upon him. It felt as though he could not breathe under its crushing weight, and he wanted to be free. Free of him. Free of everything.

His lips started to tremble and he spoke without much restraint: "you're not my brother. I couldn't care less what you do as a Head, or as a keeper of this easy whore to spawn more of yourself." Sasuke turned his face to her and saw her eyes widen with shame and shock. "Look how eager she is to spread herself for you. Eager to rut and eager to lay—a fitting woman for a slippery man such as yourself. You couldn't have found a more suitable match," he said coldly and without shame, returning his eyes back to him.

Sasuke's fury had redoubled at the sight of her tears. He wanted to say more. He wanted to hurt him more, shame him more . . . so when Itachi raised his hand to strike him, he did not flinch; he did not blink. He wanted to feel the sting of his slap on his face without fear this time. He wanted to break away and tear apart this flimsy bond they shared. It did not matter to him—not anymore.

Itachi curled his fingers. He did not hit him. He kept looking down at his eyes, and the hot fury burning inside them. He lowered his hand and moved it to touch his head. Sasuke pushed his hand away and stormed out of the room. Itachi moved his hand to stop him but turned around at the sound of Izumi's whimpers. He looked on as her lower lip shuddered, and she made such an awful face before she started weeping. Quickly, she picked herself up and rushed out of the room.

He let out a heavy sigh and sat back down. Raising his eyes to his grandmother's face, he saw a hint of a mischievous smile upon the lips. "She is too foolish, childish, and sensitive," he said and picked up the scrunched up paper. "Did you not tell her that he was angry? If that is all it takes to make her weep, then she will not last a day in my house." He created a mildly irritated look on his face but quickly schooled his features into the look of habitual indifference.

"You could have scolded or disciplined him, Itachi," she said in amusement and stretched her arm to stroke his hair.

"I am not going to hit him over something so trivial when he is already so angry and frail. He is just angry with me. It will pass," he said and put the paper down on the tatami mat. The shadows stretched out before him, falling on his grandmother's aged face.

"And if it does not?" she asked, her voice small and soft. That smile was in place as she saw him look back at her with just a small amount of worry in his young eyes—his eyes that hid so many of his burdens, his secrets. He never wanted to share them.

Itachi held his gaze for a few more moments and then turned his eyes away towards the flame of the lantern. "As long as he is safe, then it is . . . all right. He can hate me if he desires," he said with honesty and got to his feet. "I will go and speak with him. If he still does not want to cast his vote, then you can tell the Elders the truth. It matters not." He bowed before her and turned around. He took a few steps and opened the sliding door, but the sound of his grandmother's voice stopped him.

"Will you be able to bear his hate?" she asked, looking at his back. "It is so easy to claim things, Itachi, but it is difficult to experience them, to live through them. He has lived so many years alone with you and sees you in many forms—father, brother, a mother even. He may not know it, but he is so possessive of you. He is still a child at heart. He does not want to share you. He just wants your attention. Can you really let him hate you, destroy his love for you, knowing that you can just tell him the truth?"

He half-turned, and his face became hard in the wind flowing in through the open door. "He does not need to know anything. He is a child. Do not ever say anything to him. You will just get him killed. Is that what you desire—to end his life? I would be left with _nothing_ ," he said with a trace of anger in his voice.

Rao only smiled. Her lips quivered, her smile wavered, and fresh tears rose in her small eyes. "You will only push him further away. Your lies will kill him. He will end up dead. He will not stop. You know this. How long will you keep on punishing him? How long? Tell him. He will understand," she said, her face sad and anguished. "My boy, my beautiful boy, you cannot be so naïve. You cannot be. You know this will destroy him. You are destroying him. And if something happens to him, it will completely ruin you. It will completely destroy you. You will _never_ be able to recover from his death. It will drive you mad. Tell him the truth. Lift this burden from your shoulders. It is such a small thing and it has spiraled out of control. Just—"

"This is not your decision to make," he cut her off and left in silence, closing the door behind him . . . leaving her alone in the darkness to weep.

Itachi searched for Sasuke in the manor, but Tanaka told him that he never came home. He roamed around the small village till he saw him sitting under a tree, with a stone in hand. He was turning it around thoughtlessly with the fingers of his good hand. Sasuke heard the crunch of the dry leaves under his brother's sandals, and a look of irritation came to his face.

"What do you want now? Leave me be," he said and his voice was still harsh and bitter. His face was turned away from Itachi, and his back was squashed against the tree's bark.

A cool wind rushed past Itachi, and he smiled. "I just came to see if you were all right," he said and drew closer.

"I'm not an invalid. I can take care of myself," he said harshly and threw the stone to the stream a couple of feet away from him. It made a big splash and sank down.

Itachi looked up at the moon: it was weak and dull behind the thin sheet of grey clouds. "You can stay angry with me, but there are some rules and we have to obey them. Desires hardly matter in such affairs," he said and watched Sasuke as he turned his face up to him. His black eyes were a little wide, and there were such anger and confusion in them.

"I don't care about your rules, and I don't care about your damned position—to hell with you! Do whatever you desire. This pretend-play of yours is boring now," he said and raised himself to his feet.

Itachi's smile had not faded. It widened—so warm and soft. His eyes glinted with delight and mischievousness. "So angry . . . such a child," he said softly and watched Sasuke's face contort and work with more anger, "and then you claim that you have grown up?"

"Are you mocking me?" he asked angrily and a pulsing vein, throbbing like a little heart, rose to the surface of his forehead.

"No, why would I mock you?" he said and moved his hand to touch Sasuke's forehead and brush his hair to the side, "you are my child and no one mocks his children." And he was smiling, and his smile was not cold.

Sasuke was silent. He wanted to say more, but that anger stopped him. His curious eyes forgot the anger for just a moment and watched Itachi, making sure that it was not another trick as Itachi brushed the dry leaves off his shoulders. He pulled a few out of his wind-blown hair, too.

"You do not desire for me to take the seat? Just cast your vote. It would not matter to me," he spoke softly, stroking his head. "If you dislike her, then I will not accept her as my wife. Just tell me."

Sasuke sucked his cheek in such a way as though he was chewing on a piece of bitter lemon. "Why are you asking me?" he asked, his voice still rough that Itachi could not help but create a full smile on his lips.

"Obā-San wishes for me to get this matter out of the way. When she gives me a son, there is no need for her to be in my house," he said, meeting Sasuke's intense gaze. "Sasuke, you are my child. Do not ever forget that. No one can take your place . . . even if it is my son. Do not be so angry. Look what you have done to yourself in anger. Cool your heart." Itachi's face was sober, and his black eyes were searching his face, his mind.

"You have such a way with words," Sasuke spoke and he did not look any less angry. "You can win hearts so easily, but I know—I know that you're _just_ a nasty liar." His face shivered, and a soft angry smile clung to his lips the way red sake does.

Itachi did not speak. It was better to leave him be for now. Few moments passed and Sasuke spoke again, his voice softer now: "I want to visit the Police Force compound. The day of their death is coming. I want to pray where I was found. It would be—"

"What are you talking about?" Itachi cut him off with a changed voice and gaze.

Sasuke looked up and found confusion and a little anger in Itachi's face. "What do you mean? I just want to visit the compound. Even that isn't allowed now? The votes haven't even been counted yet, but look at you—so full of yourself already!" he said in a firm, loud voice. He was quick to anger.

Itachi considered Sasuke for a moment, fixing him with a strange look. "Sasuke, you were never found in the compound," he said and tilted his head a little to the left. Softness faded from his eyes. He looked so cold again.

"Is this a joke to you? Do you find these tricks amusing? I don't," he said with a hiss, and his cheek-muscles tightened in anger.

"What have you been brewing up in your head?" he asked and moved closer, "show me." And before Sasuke could protest, he was inside his mind. It was night, and he was not wearing one sandal. His tiny foot was bare as he sloshed through blood. He fell down to his knees when his eyes fell upon someone's face, and everything turned to black.

Itachi pulled out and blinked once, his shurikens spinning so obediently in his eyes. "Still such a child," he spoke, and his words sounded frosty like the snow, "how I stop you from dwelling on this for too long, but you never listen. You are so obsessed with this that you are tampering with your own memories. Is this how you want to live your life, pushing yourself to the brink of sanity?" He grabbed him by the arm and jerked him forward. He was so angry now.

"Is this another one of your yarns? I haven't even read anything like this. You're lying. I don't believe you. You liar!"

"Not everything related to the Sharingan is made available to a child like you," he said, and his lips trembled into a cool smile that made another jolt of anger surge through Sasuke. It boiled his blood. "Who knows what you will do with _Kin-Jutsus_ at your disposal, let alone any other details of the Sharingan—" he stopped and slowly shook his head, "still such a disobedient child. You are creating another mess for me, but you do not care as you told me in the forest. You do not owe me anything, as it is, somehow, my duty to keep cleaning up your messes. Does this not terrify you—do you not fear insanity?" Itachi's face was hard and angry, his eyes two bright rubies in the dark.

Sasuke was silent; and his eyes were wide as he tried to pull away, but Itachi's grip was tight and hard. That anger rose back up to the surface. His cheeks were red and hot again. He searched his mind, but he could remember nothing other than that small broken memory. Itachi let go of his arm, and Sasuke took a step back and lowered his eyes to escape his accursed gaze.

"I will take you to the compound, but on one condition," he paused, a hard look still there in his face like something permanent and eternal, "you will not go there for another year, and you will come to me every evening to fix this. I cannot bear such a burden—not with a new responsibility upon my shoulders. You are just creating a new trouble for yourself. If someone catches wind of this—you child . . . " He clenched his jaws in anger and looked away.

"But I—I don't understand. I . . . " Sasuke fell silent. He dropped his gaze to the ground, his eyes looking at the red flowers quivering under the cool caresses of the autumn breeze.

"You got lost deep in the forest," he spoke, and his voice drew Sasuke's gaze to him, "you went after autumn moths that were floating to purple lilies. You pursued them. You were just a small child. It took me hours to find you. I thought—" he stopped, but his voice did not falter and he continued, "—you had been killed in the massacre. But you had collapsed in the field of lilies from exhaustion when you could not find your way back home. You never saw anything. Do not do this. You will destroy yourself . . . and me."

Words eluded Sasuke. He knew his chakra was strong; he knew Uchiha chakra leaked into the brain. Was he really so obsessed that he was meddling with his own head, his memories?

Itachi turned around to walk away, but he stopped and spoke as coldly as he did before: "I will cast your vote and consider it a _no_ , but you are right," he paused and looked over his shoulder, "it does not matter." And then he walked away, leaving Sasuke outside in the cold night's air . . .

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	42. Truth or Dare

**Chapter Forty-Two** : Truth or Dare

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With that perpetual condition of unwanted irritation apparent on his face, Sasuke looked into the distance: his eyes searched for something to the east beyond the sparse curtains of mist. His Sharingan was out, and it did not seem as though he wanted to look her way. Only few weeks had come to pass, and yet, she felt like something inside her had cooled off against her will; and that something was becoming inflamed again.

Desire flared up but it did not sink back down again. It rose and rose, and she did not feel any shame in letting her imaginations run wild and free. They carved their own course in that dirt-road of her mind, and she felt a smile crawl across her face. The rain was cool on her cheeks and neck, but she felt so delicious and hot. He had a Sharingan, but he could not read her mind.

"I—" she fumbled and bit her lip in mild irritation as he always made her feel vulnerable. She breathed in deeply and cleared the haze in her head to speak again, her voice no less timid this time: "I have to complete it in the allotted t-time? What if I'm unable to?" Hinata asked, feeling the veins throb with so much desire that she could feel every pulse in her skin now.

He did not stir for a few moments, his head bent, his eyes locked on his hand. He kept curling and uncurling his fingers. A wince crossed his features every time he did so; he had not fully healed from his injuries.

"Just complete your task and come back within a couple of minutes," he said coldly, his cheeks red with anger and a bit of freezing cold that nipped at his wet skin.

Hinata did not like his tone. It had been weeks since she had last seen him. She did not enjoy his tamed wrath—she did not deserve it. She huffed out a sigh, and her face worked into an expression of small anger. Red rose in her cheeks, and she curled her right hand and pressed it against her breast. Her heart was not quiet; no, it was loud and angry.

"You could tell me some more. What would happen if I—"

"If you fail?" Sasuke silenced her harshly, his head turning sharply to her. His teeth clenched. He looked so angry. "You'll be sent home. Is that good enough or do you want to be coddled some more?"

Anger flew from her eyes only to return with a new intensity. "Why are you so angry with m-me? It isn't fair, Sasuke," she said, her face turning to hide the flare of anger.

"Don't be so direct with me," he said in a low, guttural voice, veins knotting on his forehead. "I'm still your superior. Intimacy shouldn't fill your head with air. Bring yourself down to the ground. It'll only do you good."

Hinata was shocked. Her face turned deep red, but it was still filled with shock, confusion, and disbelief. Her mind groped through a maelstrom of desires, anger, memories. He was not being fair. She had given him her heart—she told him that. It felt so shameful to be at the receiving end of his whiplash.

"I don't—" Hinata whispered and swallowed back the lump of anger rising up to choke her, "I don't deserve this. You shouldn't talk to me in this manner. It isn't fair. You aren't being fair." Her face was covered with a layer of contained anger, and she did not let her eyes wander anywhere. They were bent on his face, and he did not seem moved.

"Life isn't fair. You should accept it that not all things have to go your way, Hinata," he said and shoved his hands into his pockets, his head turning almost dismissively.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you. Don't be u-unfair to me. Don't!" she shouted, and he stared back indifferently. His clenched his jaw tightly, and his eyes swirled with such turbulent emotions.

Sasuke drew in a deep breath and faced her. His countenance was still so rigid. "What do you want? I'm in no mood for this emotional drama of yours. Nii-Sama's already breathing down my neck to cut you loose. I can't handle you and Naruto both. If it's between you and him, I _will_ drop you if you don't perform," he said in a rough and uncaring voice, every muscle in his face tight. Nothing she said seemed to soften his anger.

Hinata stared back. Defeat came into her face, and she looked down, letting herself be distracted by the dead leaves strewn about the muddy ground. "Of course," she breathed out and smiled bitterly, "of course you would choose him. He's your friend. No b-barrier of honorific, trust, and kindness—it's all meant for him. You're unfair. And you're cruel . . . " She swallowed her tears and did not let the sadness consume her.

"What's this foolishness? Stop being a child. Naruto has nothing to do with this. You've already ruined his life as it is. There's no need to quarrel with me over it," he said, his eyes meeting hers, gazing at shock permeate her cold-nipped face, slowly.

Her expression changed as anger consumed her. Her hands curled into fists, her body shaking. "How dare you! How could you say that to me? I've ruined his life?" she asked in a grating voice that was so unlike the one she was so familiar with, and her eyes grew wide with shock. "More than four years I've suffered at his hands. He's always been unkind to me. He never cared for me. He l-left me for days to rot in that house. What would you know? You, who has a brother who loves you so much—who loves you more than anything. You don't know anything. You . . . " her voice faded under the loud bark of Sasuke's laughter.

His head was tilted back, and he laughed and laughed as if it was the most amusing thing he had ever heard. At last, his laughter faded and his eyes slowly opened, his long, white throat vibrating under the light drizzle with repressed sounds. His chest heaved rapidly for a few moments before he quieted his loud breaths and breathed out a loud sigh. Then, as if something had passed, he gazed at her face. She was so shocked that he could not help but create a smile on his own face; his eyes sparkled with a sinister emotion that made her shiver.

He stared at her for a second or two more before he spared her the cast of his cold glance. "You don't know anything about my brother. I suggest you stop being a fool by trying your hand at unraveling that mystery. It would be beyond your common mind," he said without an ounce of kindness in his voice and tapped at the side of his head and stared at her up and down as he passed his tongue over his lips a little thoughtlessly. "As for Naruto, then truth hurts, doesn't it? You and your family did ruin his life, and he still struggles to break free. But you're so self-righteous and sure of your morality that you must put him down—if only to make yourself feel better. You're . . . so silly."

That look of amusement seemed to have vanished from his face. It was like something Hinata said created such a sting on his skin that hurt him raw. Her words angered him and she did not know why. She looked at him and he back at her, and her heart just could not bear that he was going further and further away from her.

Her cold anger and desire stung her mind into action, and she wanted to scramble forward and grab his hand, yell at him, make him hers; so she looked at him with much curiosity, and her eyes tried to cut through the mist between them. His face did not relate rigid self-control and detached coldness like Itachi's: no, he had his own passions to exhibit, but he was so hot and so cold; she did not know what to do about him—about herself. Time was slipping away from her like him, and she had no desire to let go just yet. It was too soon . . .

"I'm not trying to make myself feel better. It's the truth. You're only siding with your friend. It's his fault. It's all his fault," she said breathlessly and grasped at her breast as if to control and calm her jumping heart.

"Is it?" he asked, tilted his head, and focused his red eyes on her face. "Why haven't you left him after all this time, knowing that he loves another?"

Hinata blinked, and her face suddenly went blank. Then she rose her eyebrows, widened her eyes, and showed her teeth as though she was grimacing in anger. "Where could I have gone? Y-You talk like I ever had a home to go to," she said in resentment and slowly turned her gaze away. Her father came into her thoughts, and suddenly, she felt like she always loathed him.

"So he's your safety net—a convenient money box for you on a hard day? Aren't you a loving wife?" he said, scoffing.

"A money box?" Hinata repeated, feeling so angry and humiliated by his coldness. "I'm his wife. He did me no favours by taking care of me. I've done all that I can as his wife. I have—"

"Have you?" he cut her off and pushed his chilly hands back into his pockets. His warm breaths hung in the air before fading away right before her eyes. "He always told me how you were so unkind to him. How you never cared when he got back from missions. Did you ever talk to him kindly—ever asked how he felt when he was being burdened by your father and his own parents to give every single penny he owned to all of you in the past? It doesn't seem fair to me." He widened and then narrowed his eyes, smiling a cold smile.

Hinata was silent. His words were like hard slaps in her face. She raised her hand to rub at her cheeks as though she could actually feel their sting on her skin. Her mind wandered, and she looked through every memory; and then it occurred to her, finally . . . she really never talked to him when he came back after so many days.

He used to smile when they got married. Then, little by little, his smiles faded and he talked less and less till he stopped coming home. He would disappear for days after lectures from Hiashi and his own parents. They always admonished him, belittled him for not giving them an heir. He tried, but the pain scared her so much that she did not ever let him come near her. As time went on, he did not ask her for intimacy. He just became cold and detached. He just stopped caring.

"I had to lend him money to buy a thing or two. It's like you all enjoyed trapping him in a cage to get an heir at all costs. It's not even a matter of fairness—it's just cruel," he said in a whisper, his face warping this time to exhibit his discontent.

"And yet he had enough to enjoy himself. For four years, he was intimate with someone else. At least, he had something. At least, he wasn't rotting away all alone like I was," Hinata said and her voice faltered. "It's so easy for you to say this because you're a m-man. You wouldn't understand. You just wouldn't."

"Naruto didn't go near Sakura until about a year ago," Sasuke said and his words shocked her again. He was lying—this could not be true!

"That's a lie! People told me. People—" she broke off and stifled a sob, her eyes red with fresh tears that burnt her throat, too. She gulped in the air to cool it off, and that eased her pain just a bit.

"No, it's the truth," he said, "people say many things. Most of them are always lies. Naruto never touched Sakura until last year. He told me himself. He was bitter. He hated his life with you. He simply wanted to shame his parents. He hoped that this would make them free him, but they're persistent. Without their support, he'll be a beggar on the streets. He had little choice in the matter."

Thunder shrieked and lightning streaked in the sky, but blood was roaring in Hinata's ears. He was lying. He had to be lying. She mashed her trembling lips together and swallowed her sobs. Then she closed her eyes against the sting of tears, but the pain of truth was something else. She broke apart her own life over lies? No, it could not be. She bent her head to hide her shame. She did not know what to say. Nothing tripped from her tongue: it was so shy again.

"He . . . he could have talked to me. He could have t-talked to me . . . " she choked on the words. They were scratching her quivering throat—burning it, bleeding it. It was all anger and shame and sorrow. All was lost. Nearly five years of her life were lost.

"You never tried talking him, as well. You could've confronted him, but you believed the lies," Sasuke spoke icily and turned his eyes to look at the lightning running across the sky like a scared animal. It broke up into many blue forks up north. The sky lit up, a loud noise followed, and then it was silence again.

Hinata felt her feet move, and before she could stop herself, she was standing before him. Her face tilted up to look at him and his red eyes she had learnt to love so much. "He shouldn't have gone near her," she stopped and took in a sharp breath to cool her mind and heart, "he shouldn't have. You don't know how it has shamed me. His infidelity. His coldness. You don't know. It's easy for you to say this to me. But y-you're not me. You're not me. He shouldn't have gone near her. He's still a terrible person. N-No matter what you say, it doesn't change that."

"But you're the same," he said, and her eyes went wide again. "You invited me to come near you—so many times. How are you any different? Why do you only find fault in him when you're the same? You crossed that barrier, too. It doesn't matter what you say, Hinata, it makes you the same." His eyes were narrow, but he looked calm. That anger was gone from his face, and she was secretly glad.

"Don't say that," she said in such an anguished voice, as if she was without a breath, and stretched her hands to take hold of his. "Don't say that. You hurt me, Sasuke. Your words hurt me."

Sasuke was silent. His ears filled with the delightful sounds of drizzle and thunder. His skin was cold like the wind, and his heart was just as cold. His anger got the best of him today, but she came through, regardless. This woman . . . was easy.

Hinata pulled his hand to herself and placed it gently upon her breast. He sensed her heart tripping and leaping just underneath her wet jacket at his touch—it craved his touch madly. Her eyes were closed, her lashes fluttering, her face so calm and serene. Her long hair swayed behind her in the wind. A red blush invaded the white of her skin, and when she opened her eyes, she looked lusty and enamoured.

"Don't hurt me," she breathed, more softly this time, and squeezed his hand in hers. "I did it for I was alone. I did it because I had no one and—and I'm not ashamed to feel your touch. I'm not ashamed to love you. I won't be ashamed. Not anymore." She moved forward, hands on each side of his wet face, and she leant up to kiss him.

Hinata started with his lips as her hands reached to the back of his head. Her fingers tangled in his messy hair. His lips opened slightly in response; and she was so hasty to taste him. His mouth was warm, his tongue hot against hers. Lust vibrated through her like music, and she wanted him to take her there and then. Sate her passions. Quench her lust. Burn her body the way she enjoyed.

There was this insistent pressure of her pink lips against his jaw and his throat as she tried to desperately tug him down into the violent storm of her desires. She pulled back suddenly and whispered again: "I'm not ashamed." Then she moved further back, her eyes still on his; she kept moving back till she stopped and stood silently a few feet away from him

Sasuke sat down upon the fallen tree and rubbed his eyes. He was tired. "Just complete the task. Catch the man in the forest in ten minutes and bring him back. If you don't complete this in time, Nii-Sama will be angry me. I'm in no mood for his lectures today," he said, his head bowed as he kept looking down at the mud.

Hinata nodded and disappeared from sight, and he created a cold smile behind her back . . .

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"Your report is thirty minutes late," Itachi spoke as he sat in Sasuke's office chair. He had decided to scold him here this time. "Why do you always want me to coddle you, Sasuke?"

Sasuke stood under his shadow, which was created by the light behind the chair. His wild demeanor had lost itself in these last few days behind the wall of fear. He figured that his injuries flared his anger. Now that his body was healed, his heart shuddered, as if from a violent crash, whenever his eyes fell upon Itachi. His body was afraid of getting hurt—he was afraid that Itachi would hurt him again. All that audacity, all that boldness, was gone. Vanished. And he was vulnerable again.

"Do you desire an invitation to tell me the details?" he asked as coldly as he could and pressed his fingers to his temples.

"She twisted her foot in the mud. I had to take her to the infirmary. She doesn't know how to write a report, so it took a while for me to guide her," he said in a low voice that barely managed to hide his fear. His head was bent, and he stood with his hands clasped behind his back—an obedient posture.

"How unfortunate for the foolish, discarded Hyūga girl. Is she not clumsy? But you just adore having her as an extra playmate. I suppose we should all abide by your philanthropic decisions to embrace lonely married women," he spoke and a cool smile came to his face. Sasuke was silent.

Itachi looked at him for a second longer and opened the report. His face was slightly tight, his countenance irritated. His red eyes shone in the dark. He read it in two seconds. Then his frown deepened, and he rolled the scroll up. He let out a small _tsking_ sound when he saw his crow sitting in the window. It vanished after a single unpleasant caw.

"Congratulations. She barely managed to scrape a win this time. You should be ecstatic, delirious with joy that you had your way again," Itachi said and his deep, frigid voice hurt Sasuke's senses. Itachi got to his feet and made his way to him, his eyes wandering slightly in Suigetsu's direction—who stood close to the window, silently away from Sasuke. His head was bowed as well.

"I want you in my room in twenty minutes to fix your addled head, Sasuke. You understand me? Or make no mistake, you will be in trouble. With this new responsibility upon my shoulders, I have no time to coddle you and indulge your silly whims. They seem to increase day by day. I only did this because her Chūnin application had already gone through without my knowledge. Consider yourself lucky that it reached the Hokage before me.

"I hope she takes careful steps in the coming days, or I will make sure that you are _remorseful_ for wasting my time," he said with an air of danger about him and left the office with a graceful gait.

Sasuke's eyes glowed on his face in the wake of his brother's leave. His eternal eyes were out, and he pushed a heavy amount of chakra inside them to look into every nook and corner in the office. He saw it all: the spiders in the cracks, rats scrambling into the holes, frantic, and a few snakes down in the wiring. No one was there besides him and Suigetsu. He could see his brother walking away from the office. His chakra was so exquisite, beautiful, and powerful. He felt a sudden surge of emotion, a sense of pride. He was his brother, after all. He was perfect. The thought did not stay there and got shattered by his anger. His eyes cooled and he blinked. Suigetsu was smiling. He was just as mischievous as ever.

"You have a big mouth," Sasuke said, quieted the red, and turned a little to look at him. Without Sharingan, he could barely make out the outline of Suigetsu's face—the shadows and the starless night were thick.

"Did it ta save yor life. I didn't know yor brother will beat ya senseless," he said and chuckled. "Ya didn't call me here ta talk about the beatin' and the huggies ya want. Come on, what's eatin' ya? You can tell me, my lovely friend." His smile was widening, and his teeth were showing. They were so white and clean that he could easily see them in the haziness about him.

"What did Kisuke tell you?" he asked and closed his eyes to feel the breeze hit his hot skin. His brother's words had set his blood to boiling like that old cauldron in their house's kitchen—he used to poke at it with a stick as a child, often.

"A man from Root's been comin' over in that small shady place in Rain ta meet with Mist ninjas. He said he saw Ao loiterin' about there, too. The greasy arsehole still isn't satisfied. He's probably sniffin' around 'bout me," he explained and took a single step forward to come out of the shadows.

"Torune Aburame," Sasuke paused, haughtiness tearing through his blank face, and he smiled, "Aburame, still the same insects crawling on the ground. They can't help but become Root's lapdogs in hopes of gaining something more for their small clan. He must have had a middle-man. Find him, kill him, and make your clone take his place. I want this done soon."

Sasuke's eyes were filled with such a wild lust for revenge that Suigetsu smiled. "Ya want me ta lure him out? It won't be easy," he said and crossed his arms. The silver light of the moon made his watery form more obvious: he glowed in the dark with a strange aura about him.

"Spread a rumor about Kisame among few Konoha hired Shinobis there. Mist will be wary. They have peace treaties coming up. I read Mei's mind last time. The news won't reach her that soon. Make haste. The sooner we get this done, the better. I want to know what that whelp knows," he said in an abrasive tone, his face hardened by cold anger.

"What 'bout yor brother?" he asked, looking a bit shocked. "Ya just took a beatin'—a damn nasty one, too. Isn't it too soon ta jump back into this? Think 'bout it, Sasuke. Don't be too hasty."

Sasuke ran his teeth across his bottom lip. He suddenly looked amused. "Nii-Sama has so much on his plate now," he said and gave a soft laugh as though he was enjoying himself, "between Anbu, his Head responsibilities, and an obnoxious woman he needs to handle for an heir, I doubt he would suspect this. My brother's so clever, so perfect, but he's human. He has his limits. He's just exhausted these days. It's amusing to see him struggle with all this. He would never expect me to start something so soon—not after the beating he gave me." And Suigetsu could see teeth in his sinister smile. He looked bitter, angry.

"Ya got a hearin' tomorrow. Ya know that, right?" Suigetsu asked with a small curious smile on his face. He watched as Sasuke's eyes glowed red, and his lips stretched wide into a delightful smile that made him shiver. He could not believe that Itachi's beating had only made him more stubborn, more angry.

"Nii-Sama says he loves me," he said in such a manner that it sounded like mockery, "let him worry about it. Nothing will happen. I can assure you. You do as you're told. A treaty signing with Cloud is coming soon. He would be so busy. We can use that time to kill Torune and get the information he knows. Once I get that, I can deal with Nii-Sama. You worry too much, Suigetsu, you fool."

Sasuke walked away from him and stood by the window. Suigetsu kept staring at his back. Itachi would find out, and both of them would be in great trouble. He just knew it. It was a gut feeling, but he just knew . . .

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	43. The Hearing

**Chapter Forty-Three** : The Hearing

 **Canon-Manga Info** : The canon information concerning Shikamaru's claims about Sasuke has been mentioned before.

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The Council Hall was completely empty save for one attendant who marched back and forth with a big stack of files in her small arms. The soles of her sandals were thick and made earsplitting, irritating sounds as she clumsily toddled back and forth between various desks. The wooden floor was polished and squeaky clean. Sasuke's bored eyes followed her movements from left to right and then back again.

Her sandals were slipping on the floor, and it was only a matter of time before she would trip. And it happened just as he had predicted: she spun around too quickly, her leg went flying up, and she landed very hard on her rump. The files flew out of her hands, and all the pages slowly floated down about her. Her thick glasses were left askew on her pink face. An embarrassed smile formed on her lips, and it widened comically till the tips of her teeth peeked out. She muttered something and hurriedly began to pick up the pages.

Sasuke dragged his eyes away and pressed the crook of his knuckle to his lips to hold in the laugh. He sat on a large waiting bench by the thick double-door to his right. The door had an intricate leaf pattern carved into its smooth surface; it gave off a very faint odour of damp rot that choked him when the breeze moved it. The thing was probably as much of a relic as the Council members were.

Lazily, he moved his gaze to the window. It was left open to let in fresh morning air. The sun was still climbing up the eastern slope of the clear sky. It was only six a.m. in the morning, and the offices were still empty. He wiggled his ears, hoping to catch a faint sound from beyond the door. It was no use. He could hear nothing from inside the large hall. He imagined they had placed some sort of seals upon the walls and doors to make it sound-proof.

Sasuke sighed and leant back against the wall. Itachi had told him to wait obediently in the waiting area. He had a small Anbu matter to attend, so he waited silently and obediently just like he had told him to. He now settled his eyes upon Yuu's impatient hands; he was rubbing them together and looked pretty nervous.

He stood with his back against the wall, eyes on the floor, glancing slightly to the left and slightly to the right. His eyes were bulging out, and there was a thin film of sweat on his young face. He looked more worried than Sasuke about the hearing. At that moment, measured steps sounded on the wooden floor and his brother came into view, with Kai and Serizawa just behind him.

Yuu's eyes bulged out, and he quickly stood as straight as an arrow, every muscle tensed, and he bowed his head to fumble out a shaky morning greeting. Itachi did not entertain it. Sasuke slowly got to his feet and turned his head away. He did not want to see his brother. That anger was still there, and his eyes burnt with a barely controlled fury.

Itachi stopped and turned his eyes to Yuu. "You can leave and manage Sasuke's Team," Itachi spoke, his eyes moving towards Sasuke's countenance, and watched, with slight amusement, the changing expression upon his face and a frown that developed upon his brow.

Yuu bowed again and asked, "when will his hearing be over, Itachi-Sama? He has to manage Team tests today." Then he began rubbing his hands together again, letting them apart and bringing them together like some kind of ritual.

Itachi looked at his hands for one fleeting moment and then brought his gaze back to his face again. "I highly doubt he will find any time for duty today. He has to be home after this to welcome a guest," he said, and Sasuke's head snapped in his direction, his eyes wide.

Yuu gave a quick bow and left silently, his steps deadened by the progressive increase in distance till Sasuke could hear him no more. He turned his eyes and watched the cool look on Kai's face, and the warm smile upon Serizawa's; his smile widened when Sasuke's eyes met his, but he quickly dropped his eyes to the floor in a stubborn attempt to evade his brother's gaze. He knew who was coming, and he knew Itachi had done it on purpose to teach him another lesson in obedience. His resentment grew stronger at that moment.

He felt his brother's hand on his shoulder and heard the soft brushing sound of his hand against that thick office jacket. He was trying to wipe away a speck of dirt. "I have faith in your memory, Sasuke, that you will not say anything I did not ask of you to memorize last night," he said, his voice smooth, and a sudden ripple of anger crossed Sasuke's face, but he stayed quiet.

"Do not speak unless you are not spoken to," he said, adjusting the zip of Sasuke's flak jacket as if he was a wee boy who did not know how to dress for the Genin academy, "and do not say anything more than necessary. As long as you stay silent and obey my instructions, you will be out of here in a matter of minutes."

Sasuke raised his eyes a bit to look at the flicker of a cool smile hovering over Itachi's lips like a sinister specter. He grabbed the back of Sasuke's neck and squeezed. "Do you understand, Sasuke?" he asked and raised his finger when Sasuke parted his lips to retort. "I want none of your lip today—none of your childishness and none of your child's play. Discard it outside this door when you step inside the hall."

The smile softened—playful, almost impish upon his brother's face. He loved to wear it often these days. Sasuke knew this was just another one of his pretend-plays. The man was a mystery to him. He was brought up by him. He grew up playing on his lap and sleeping in the same futon with him when he was just a boy, but he could never say for sure that he knew him completely.

He still loved to make those origami cranes for him; he did that often when he was young. It used to fascinate Sasuke how quickly he would fold the paper and create a perfect crane in a matter of seconds. It was a childhood pleasure that had lost a bit of its attraction and charm. Over the years, most things did; the look of anger faded just a little from his face, and he lowered his head—lost in thoughts.

"You are good boy—you are such a good boy. I know you will never disappoint me," he said in a voice that sounded almost sincere and brushed his hand across Sasuke's forehead. Then he pulled his hand back, moved away, and opened the thick door. Voices came to him then, loud voices, but the door was quickly shut behind Itachi.

"Don't test my patience, you decrepit old fool!" Tsunade snarled loudly at Danzō, slapping her hand down on the large table that a few small glasses and penholders danced. Her brown eyes flashed to Itachi, and then she fell silent.

He ran his eyes around the room slowly, taking in every detail: it was such a large, but sparsely furnished, room. A few lanterns sat on the long and large table set before seven big chairs. Tsunade sat on the largest one right in the middle. Shimura Danzō, Mitokado Homura, and Utatane Koharu sat to her left whilst Nara Shikaku and Hyūga Hiashi sat to her right. There was just one empty chair, and it was reserved for him.

"Ah, Itachi, we thought you had lost your way here," Shikaku spoke from across the large room with a broad smile on his mildly scarred face. His voice seemed to almost echo in the dim hall.

Itachi slowly climbed the small set of stairs that led to the hefty chair set right next to Tsunade's. "I had a small matter to attend," he said and sat down on the chair, his eyes upon the empty chair on the floor in front of them. It was placed right under a lantern hanging down from the high roof. It glowed eerily, but the space around it was cast in shadows. Today, there were no shackles attached to it. He raised his head just a little to look at the roof. It was dark there, and he could see nothing without his Sharingan.

"I was called upon this morning to handle that Mist matter," he said, twisting his goatee, "who is the shinobi that has to appear before us?"

"Uchiha Sasuke," Itachi said expressionlessly without turning his face to look back at him, and the smile flew from Shikaku's face at the impression of such dutiful detachment upon Itachi's face.

Shikaku gave a sidelong glance to the empty chair and pulled in a deep breath, his eyes appraising the wooden object as though it was already occupied by Sasuke. A look of curiosity, and a bit of mild sorrow, came to his dull eyes. He was a middle-aged man who had seen it all: the ugliness and carnage of wars and the cunning of Shinobis who thronged the military ranks, eager to please their Lords. It was always some unlucky bastard that got caught in the whispers and murmurs of treachery. The council was always swift to do away with the lot of them.

They were swift, emotionless, and cruel—too cruel. But Sasuke . . . ? It just did not seem right. When Shikaku was young, he did not understand how anything mattered beyond the Will of Fire. It was absolute to a shinobi. The will of Leaf was his will. Leaf rustled in the uncertain winds and he, too, felt the tremors of unrest and betrayals. He set himself to seek the truth, but it was always shrouded in the changing, shifting darkness. He could not say he had a single memory that comforted him that justice was served. It made a wave of guilt and shame rush through him, affect his heart in ways that he felt . . . sorrow over what he had done over the years.

How culpable was he in the schemes of Elders? He really could not say anything for sure. He took in another great breath and took a moment to regroup his scattered senses and fixed his eyes upon Itachi's face: he was young, too young, to be a part of the council, he imagined; his cheeks were still so soft, and there was not a line, not a groove in his youthful face; he still had the blush of youth and a blazing spark of wild virility in his eyes. He was just . . . too young—young enough to not wear any premature signs of age upon his face and body. It would take them many, many long years to wither away under the cruel touch of Nature. It was his time to taste the lush fruits and relish the pleasures of youth. Young, so young, to be tainted by the dark side of Leaf, but she had bitten Itachi when he was still blooming into a man, and her corruption had gone deep into his heart and spirit . . . there was no saving him now.

Itachi now occupied Minato's chair. The shame had taken that authority, that chair away from him. It was lamentable, but it was not as though Shikaku could have changed the council's mind. They were hell-bent on making Minato suffer over _that_ incident. Shikaku's vote amounted to nothing. It was four against two. Minato was voted off the Council's seat, disgraced, and his tale was over in these halls.

Shikaku closed his eyes, taking in the faint odour of fresh wood mixed with a fragrance of polish the new table and chairs exuded. They were so new amongst the old folk in this room. Old, save for Itachi.

"I remember Sasuke," Shikaku began, and his voice unnaturally swelled in the room again, "such a bright boy. My son always said how he looked up to him. I am sure it is some misunderstanding." He cupped his chin and played with his goatee again. He had never grown a mustache. His wife found this look lovely on him. He was not a sentimental man, but he liked to do little things for his better half.

"We need to talk to the boy first," Kohura said in a shrill, grave voice, "no need to give him a special treatment because his brother sits amongst us as our equal." She raised her nose in the air, those beady little eyes half-open that the onlookers probably would not be able to tell whether she was asleep or awake.

Shikaku stole a quick glance at Itachi again. He was silent, his eyes still thoughtfully fixed upon the chair. The young man was so apt at hiding his emotions. If he felt anything for his brother's dire situation, he did not let it become apparent on his face. He smiled. Itachi had earned his seat well: he was famous for being a hardliner and a staunch supporter of Konoha's shady politics, just a hardheaded and uncompromising man in such matters. Shikaku's smile fluttered again. It would be an interesting small trial.

"No need to be so uncompromising when the hearing has yet to begin, Koharu," Tsunade spoke harshly. Her cheeks were beginning to redden all over again in fury.

"Tsunade-Hime, you are still a new Hokage," Homura said and narrowed his eyes behind the glasses against the sharp light of the lantern. "Such matters are not solved on sentimentality. Also, we believe—"

"Bring the boy in," Tsunade cut him off loudly without looking at him. Homura pressed his trembling lips together firmly. He looked offended, though he had no warm blood in his veins to make his cheeks blush with the embarrassment he felt; he was a very old man now.

The only guard standing next to the door opened it and gestured Sasuke to come in. It had been years since Shikaku last saw Sasuke, and as the light flooded upon him, he saw him clearly now: he had grown up into a tall and very handsome young man. Shikaku moved his eyes from Itachi's face to Sasuke's, and he could not help himself from thinking that they looked so alike. There were just small errors on Sasuke's face that made him look different from his older brother—small mistakes made by Nature's able hands, silly mistakes. Nature, too, stumbled sometimes.

Sasuke quietly sat down and rested his arms on the broad armrests. He raised his head and looked boldly back at the council. Shikaku found his demeanor almost thrilling to watch. Light dimmed above his head, and the room fell silent. Tsunade began writing on a scroll. The sounds magnified. Even a single draw of breath rang loudly in the room.

She puffed out a loud sigh and knotted her young fingers together. Her Jutsu always kept her young and beautiful. She narrowed her eyes upon Sasuke, and he looked back into her eyes without an ounce of fear and shame. "Uchiha Sasuke, you know why you are here?" she asked, slightly bending her head forward as if she could not see him clearly.

"Yes," he replied in a flat tone of voice, but the emptiness in the room did not let him hide that thread of audacity. The light from the lantern made the clever glint in his eyes more obvious. Shikaku observed him with a peculiar look in his face. The young man was not yet honed by age the way it had honed his older brother. Time had crafted a sinister shinobi out of the older one—he was a cold, remorseless killer. That hard touch of Time and killings had robbed that one of the innocent softness Sasuke's face had yet to relinquish.

Two brothers set apart by Time, duties, and ideologies . . . it was interesting to watch another one of these political charades within the ominous walls. They were not hallowed, and, bathed as they were with invisible streaks of blood through the ages, he thought them to be almost evil. So many left this hall to their deaths. To call this man for a hearing over something so trivial? What was Danzō thinking?

Shikaku's eyebrows rose when Tsunade snapped at Koharu again, telling her to let her speak. He admired her will to limit the hold of these people. Only the Sage knew how terrible their natures were. They were militant by nature. He never admired their single-minded pursuit to limit democracy in Konoha. They needed to be dealt with. Perhaps Tsunade would be the leader to change the climate of politics in Konoha. Minato tried, but he was ousted too soon from power—another game Danzō played and won . . .

"Why did you accept an S-Rank mission from the Kage of another village?" she asked, and her voice bounced off the walls like an shrill wail of a beast. Her face was pink, her mouth hard, her face set in cold determination. She was not going to let them win today, and it pleased Shikaku.

"It wasn't an S-Rank mission when I took it," he said and kept his eyes on her. He did not let his gaze waver and find his brother's eyes. There was no need for it.

"It was not? Whatever do you mean, young man?" Shikaku asked and watched as his lips twisted into a provocative smile. The boy was quite clever, but still so pure and innocent. No matter how hard he tried, he still could not hide away the look of child-like fear in his smile. A faint glimmer of something sinister in Sasuke's eyes caught Shikaku's gaze, but, like his face, he did not need to plumb their depths: Sasuke did not have the years nor the sins for them.

"Yes," he said and turned his eyes to him, "when the mission came to me through the usual channels, it was a simple B-Rank mission. I asked for the Anbu Captain's approval. He authorized it. That's all."

"That is quite peculiar," Shikaku said, heaving a sigh. "A B-Rank mission turned out to be an S-Rank one? Sounds as if Mist is playing political games again to create troubles. They like to clean up their messes through other villages. Nothing unheard of."

"Ending the hearing so soon?" Homura asked and leant back into his chair, his eyes roaming on Sasuke's cold face. His face managed to imitate that expression effortlessly. "Do not be so lenient, Shikaku."

"Well, I do not see any reason why this boy would take—"

"To conspire against Leaf. Why else would he do this?" Danzō's sinister voice shot anger through Sasuke like a stab of a sharp blade, but he forced it down and looked at him straight in the eye. His Sharingan was not so clever to hide his emotions. They peeked through his eyes—windows of his spirit. A gasp rose from Shikaku and Hiashi. They looked shocked at his accusation.

"Ah, to be so audacious as to flash your Sharingan at the council member? How shameful, young Uchiha," Koharu spoke in a wavering voice as if that red filled her with indignation. Her jowls quivered with the slightest of movements. She was a frail-looking old woman. Sasuke looked back into her eyes calmly. The red fires on his face were not snuffed out.

She knotted her shivering fingers into a mighty fist as though she meant to strike him down for his insolence; but, before she could speak out again, Itachi intervened: "he is young. He does not know yet how to hide his anxiety."

"Perhaps you should discipline him then, Itachi," she said; her voice had yet not lost that undercurrent of readymade authority. "Such show of boldness is unacceptable when he is charged with such a grave crime."

"Then grant him the punishment fitting for his crime as you already seem to have proven his guilt," he said coldly, his voice hitting Sasuke hard from all sides. "Perhaps pluck his eyes out in the process as a little glow of Sharingan in a mere boy's eyes is enough to topple the establishment. Konoha has grown so frail."

Koharu fell silent with an angry huff when a dull laugh from Shikaku rippled from one end of the room to another. Even Tsunade created a small smile on her red face. "You are so hasty to sentence him, Koharu. Why does this boy make you so afraid?" he asked, unable to resist the unintentional creep of a shaky laughter into his voice that still rattled in his throat. His eyes were on Itachi's ice-cold face, and his flawless look of indifference and hard humor amused him to no end. The young, rare prodigy was an apt foe in a clash between swords and tongues.

"Shielding your brother against suspicions of treason?" Danzō asked, his voice chilling the air around them like the winter's wind. "I am a little disappointed in you. Had it been someone else, you would have been so swift to end that threat. Yet you allow this seed to germinate. Why?" His eyes had not left Sasuke's, who stared back at him with the same amount of intensity.

His words made Itachi's forefinger tremble just a little on the large armrest, but in the shadows, no one saw that tiny moment of weakness. "Are you accusing me of conspiring against Leaf? After all, it was I who authorized the mission," Itachi spoke and kept his eyes on the lantern hanging above Sasuke's head. A pink moth had chosen to steal itself to the inside of the lantern. Its right wing had already caught fire. Now, it was just a futile struggle for it to save its life: Death was inevitable.

"Your brother took the task upon himself that got the prisoner killed in your care. Why deny such a strong evidence?" Danzō asked again, his words full of grave accusations that drew gasps from Tsunade and Shikaku. Hiashi, however, was still quiet; he was staring at Sasuke and the subtle anger that burnt in his eyes like the first signs of an angry wildfire. Why did he have such hate for a Council member?

"What are you insinuating?" Tsunade straightened in her chair, her pretty cheeks burning hotly with fury.

"You very well know, Hime. This boy—"

"I know you are his immutable mouthpiece, but he is not a frail old man he always pretends to be. Let him speak, Homura. Away with you, if you so much as attempt to interrupt me again," she said harshly through clenched teeth. Her sharp eyes sparked anger, and he shivered under her uncompromising gaze.

"Always quarreling, Hime," Danzō spoke again, his right eye moving under the tight bandages, "this matter is a little delicate to let this wayward child simply go. _Fū_ was also murdered under questionable circumstances. That makes two murders—one after another. He could very well be—"

"What is this?" Hiashi finally spoke from the shadows in a quiet, thoughtful voice. "We were called here for that Mist business only. Do not waste my time by piling up baseless accusations to prolong this, Danzō." He hid his stern face well in the darkness of the room.

Itachi finally turned his head slightly to look back at Danzō. It was a silent call for a challenge, his eyes flashing danger on his white face that never let emotions play with it in subtle ways. He had trained it well. "I hope you have a good reason to blindside us all with this ridiculous addition," he said, and his heavy gaze settled upon Danzō's old face that was left so pitifully weary by the touch of Nature.

Danzō adjusted his crippled arm with the good hand and looked down at Sasuke again. A shiver of delight and awe moved through him when he saw the flicker of a petal-like pattern in his young eyes. It vanished just as quickly. He felt like his eyes were teasing him, tempting him—the allure to possess such power was making him impatient.

" _Fū_ was killed in the forest by a Kenjutsu master when I had sent him out to investigate Mist's activities. The prisoner was brutally murdered when he could have aided us in laying bare the facts concerning the mission this boy took. This cannot be a coincidence," he said, just barely keeping his rough voice steady, his fingers trembling around the tip of his walking stick. Sasuke's chakra was so deliciously exquisite. His eyes . . . there was such power in his eyes that it was enough to make an old man slip into a drunken stupor after _just_ a mere glimpse of their splendor.

Tsunade gave a brusque laugh that shook her breast. "To connect something so unrelated to this matter in such a clumsy manner? You spin your yarns well," she said with a vicious glare in her eyes. Her red lips trembled, barely holding back the venomous words desperately clinging to her tongue, just waiting to tumble out of her impatient mouth. "I did not even want that dreg of Mist to stay here, but Itachi needed to interrogate him to find out why they tried to drag Konoha into this. The cursed seal on him had already left him half-dead. I examined it myself. But, according to you, this boy killed a man who was caught by Itachi by coincidence in the forest? A half-dead, worthless man who was so delirious that he would have thought of you as a beautiful young woman had he laid his eyes on you. You have grown so senile."

"I fully support Tsunade-Sama's stance," Shikaku spoke sternly, his fingers still twisting that sharp goatee. "What motive could this boy have to kill an underling when he was not even the one who caught him? The prisoner never saw him in the forest. It is such a far-fetched idea you are suggesting. It baffles me that you are even forwarding this agenda in the council hall of all the places. It seems to me that you have a deep-seated grudge for the boy. Your suggestions really are quite preposterous."

Danzō spoke no more. Silence fell around them, and Tsunade grabbed the wooden pen again to scribble a few lines. The scraping sounds echoed in their ears. She put the pen back in the ink bottle and returned her gaze to Sasuke's face. He still looked calm; the Sharingan had vanished from his eyes like a good trickster.

"The authorization came from Itachi—is that correct? What happened afterwards?" she asked and grabbed the small cup from the table to take a sip of sake. It was the mildest one they could find for today's task. She did not even like the taste on her tongue, sharp and tangy it was, but it would do for today.

"Yes, Itachi-Sama authorized it. I requested of him to assist me in training a new recruit, Hyūga Hinata," he said, not moving his gaze to see Hiashi's reaction. "She was sent with Itachi-Sama's team. She was to stay behind him and observe, and if need be, engage if he directed it. The matter escalated rather quickly. The Mizukage had sent in two of her guards as a Support-Squad. The Captain and I were ambushed by a small force. We dispatched as many as we could. I have no idea of their numbers or how many slipped away."

"Dear Sage, you sent in Hiashi's untrained, timid daughter on such a dangerous mission?" Koharu asked, feigning surprise. She wanted a reaction out of Hiashi, but he was silent.

"Did you not hear that it was a B-Rank mission?" Tsunade spoke and moved the pen quickly and harshly on the scroll. "If you cannot keep a memory, then perhaps, you are too old for these meetings."

"B and C-Rank missions are quite common for trainee Shinobis. She was also accompanied by the Anbu Captain, two highly capable Jōnins, and one Chūnin. I believe we can venture a safe guess that she was in safe hands," Shikaku added in a heavier voice this time. That soft smile was still on his lips—he found the Elders' attempts to prolong this amusing. He wanted to see why they were so desperate to corner the boy. If it had something to do with the massacre, then he would make sure it would not happen again.

He always found Fugaku to be an honest, good man. What happened to him was unfortunate. He voted in his favour then, but the entire council was against the man. It was as though they wanted a scapegoat for the masses. He found the evidence too perfect. It did not seem right to do away with him so quickly, but it happened. The carnage. The bloodshed. So many children were orphaned that day—few were slaughtered, too. The matter was buried under piles of lies. He could never forget that dark day . . .

"Why continue this at all, Hime, since you have already decided?" Koharu said irritably with a small movement of her quivering hand. The permanent grooves in her face had been deepened by anger.

"I have," Tsunade said with a bold, mocking smile bending her luscious lips, "you old folks have presented nothing to hold him. All of this is baseless and absurd. The fact that you are accusing Itachi of aiding criminals of Leaf to do favours for Mist scum is unthinkable. I will not stand for something so ridiculous."

"You, boy," Danzō said, drawing Sasuke's eyes to his aged face that worked in indescribable ways to show emotions, "how truthful have you been, hiding behind your older brother's back?"

"I really do not have time for this pettiness," Hiashi said and rose to his feet. He cast a quick glance at Sasuke and then turned his eyes to look at Tsunade. She appeared a little surprised by his reaction. "I do not know this boy enough to cast a vote in his favour, but I cannot cast a vote against him, as well. This discussion was fruitless—a typical charade. I have grown weary of those. I am neutral on this matter. You can do as you please with him. Now if you pardon me, Hime, I have important Clan matters to attend rather than indulge Danzō in another one of his . . . _games_." He cast an angry eye at Danzō and left the hall in silence. The sounds of his steps died away beyond the thick door.

Tsunade breathed in deeply. "Cast your vote," she spoke and swiftly took the pen out of the ink bottle again. "Those who vote in favour of Uchiha Sasuke leaving this hall and ending his connection with the prisoner, clearing him of all charges, say 'aye.'"

"Aye," Shikaku said, flicking Sasuke with a mischievous look. The boy was still so quiet and calm, though he admired the sharp glint in his wild red eyes. The excitement had made those Tomoes reveal themselves again. He was a bold one.

"Aye," Itachi said and kept his gaze steady as he looked at the moth burning and writhing in the lantern. It had struggled well to prolong its life. How futile was that struggle? He found it almost amusing.

"Aye," Tsunade said with relish and scribbled the results on the scroll. A Hokage's vote was equal to three councilpersons. It was a game Danzō was set to lose from the beginning.

"So hasty, Hime," Danzō's thin, meaningful voice spoke again. "This matter is not as simple as you believe it to be. This boy is connected to _Fū's_ murder. I can feel it in his revenge-soaked eyes. The council did terrible things to his Clan. It would seem only fair to him to pay us back. He bore witness to—"

"That is enough," Itachi cut him off in such a cold voice that a shiver of fear ran down Danzō's aged back, his Mangekyō Sharingan glaring at him in a threatening manner. "You wear your motley well for this show, but I am amused no longer. I fulfilled your desire to see this through in a just and fair manner and _still_ you persist?"

Danzō met his eyes head on, but he felt that he was not up to the task to challenge him. "This boy is just your mistake. You could have ended his life in the past. He will just seek out revenge. I wonder if these murders are the first steps of his journey. No need to play the role of a deliberate fool, Itachi," he said, holding his gaze boldly.

Itachi turned his eyes slightly to his brother and found confusion on Sasuke's face—like he was thinking over what Danzō was suggesting and had a question dangling from the tip of his tongue.

"Leave, Uchiha Sasuke," Itachi commanded heavily and watched his brother reluctantly leave the hall. He returned his eyes back to Danzō as the sliver of bright sunlight disappeared as the door was shut. "When a snake hides amongst the roots for an easy prey and does not wander off far from its burrow, it always dies there pitifully. The roots may trap withered cherry blossoms to lure in small beasts, but it would only delay the inevitable."

Danzō's face wore an expression of mild shock. The close-mouthed smile on Itachi's face was hard and meaningful. The young man turned his face away, giving one last glance to the moth: it had burnt away in the lantern and only its blackened body lay close to the flame now. Then he got to his feet and left the hall in silence.

"I believe we should leave, as well, Tsunade-Sama. We still have that Sand village matter to manage," Shikaku said and Tsunade nodded in response. She rolled up the scroll and walked out of the hall with him.

The hall was suddenly enveloped in a menacing silence. It was heavy and dreary. They all sat there without speaking, looking old and decrepit in the tall light of the lanterns. "Why does the boy matter so much to you?" Koharu asked and adjusted her shawl. The ornaments hanging from the pin in her bun clinked loudly in silence.

Danzō remained silent . . .

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The rain was soft but thunder was loud—a beast of the sky. Sun was still climbing. A bright light had just broken out, a big tear in a cloth on the horizon. Everything was grey and wet around him. He made to take out his Katana, but the man that appeared from beyond the trees was whom he was expecting to see.

"Why have you called me here, Chōjūrō? Now is not the time for these games," Torune spoke through chattering teeth. Autumn always made him feel miserable.

Chōjūrō reached into the fanny-pack resting on his buttocks and took out a scroll. Torune took it from his hand. "Mei-Sama requests a meeting with Danzō," he said and folded his arms across his breast.

"I highly doubt Danzō-Sama would approve it. The mess you people made—it would be impossible for the Hokage to overlook this. She's hardheaded and uncompromising," he said and moved the back of his hand across the goggles to wipe away the fog.

"You can let him decide that," he said, "Mei-Sama will be busy with the treaties for a few weeks. I want you to handle a pest." He narrowed his eyes behind the glasses dotted with raindrops.

"A pest?" Torune asked and shoved the scroll into his pocket. It really was up to Danzō to decide, after all.

"A rumor's spreading in Rain that Kisame has been sighted close to a few known borders. People who work for Konoha there are whispering. It's only a matter of time before he contacts Suigetsu or, Sage forbid, Sasuke, to escalate this. I'm sure your little hearing was a disaster," he spoke with a wry smile.

Torune's lips twitched into a hard scowl, but he did not say anything. Chōjūrō went on, "you couldn't corner that man to delay his involvement. If he catches wind of this and finds Kisame, all is lost. Don't forget, your boss started this affair and made us suffer. He would be the first one to walk to his death."

Torune narrowed his eyes. The fog did not bother him so much anymore. He was angry, but he suppressed his anger and watched as Chōjūrō left him alone in the rain. It was becoming a troublesome matter . . .

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	44. Cherry Blossoms in Roots

**Chapter Forty-Four** : Cherry Blossoms in Roots

 **Canon Manga-Info** : References to **Sasuke's Intelligence** and canon workings of **Tsukuyomi** have been made before.

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It was a cold, cold morning. The mist was thick and just beginning to disperse in the weak light of autumn sun. Her green eyes could barely see. She was not Sasuke: she did not have his Sharingan. She was jogging towards the edge of the forest. They said that many purple lilies grew there. It would be an enchanting site!

She gained speed, eager to reach the edge, but began to fatigue and slow down. She was not a very fast runner. Sasuke would be angry at the trials again. She thought of him so suddenly. Her little smile faded, breaths quickening and getting louder as she tried to quell the rising tornado of her thoughts. He was always angry with her. It was always something small. She realized that he just wanted her gone . . .

She squeezed her eyes shut and felt a few tears run down her cold cheeks. The tears were warm and they bit into her skin when they got touched by the cold. It was as unkind as Sasuke. His heart was without mercy and pity for her. Suddenly, the breath ached in her tight lungs and dry throat and she began to tremble. She felt so cold and empty.

Feelings rushed through her. She did not know what name she should give them: lust? Love? Hate? Desire? It all exploded into a wonderful sensation in the deepest-littlest part of her soul, and it crushed her mortal coil into a needy submission she knew to be all too familiar. A delicious wave of torment shot straight to her heart, wounding it so beautifully, slicing deep there—a sharp knife and a hand that knew no remorse.

The pain . . . it rattled her flesh and bones—that fierce hatred and indignation shifting to a hurting, slow rise in lust. She could feel her flesh ache with desire again. It was in her bones, pulsing in her veins, throbbing in her heart, burning her there. It was so violent. Oh, how she loathed this feeling now. How empty it was. How endlessly . . . unsatisfying it was.

All it did was make her weak and strip her mortal flesh away for him to peek into her pitiful heart and laugh to his heart's content. She had made herself into an object of his mockery. The tears stung, coursing down her red cheeks. They burnt, telling a tale of her anger and shame. If only . . . if only she could break free, tear away from the hold he had on her. Why was it so impossible?

She blinked, ridding herself of more fresh tears sparkling in her defeated eyes. The thought stung her simple mind to seek answers. There she wandered, peering deep into the darkness standing like custodians before the doors of so many secrets. There was nothing to see. Nothing to do. She had submitted her mind and body to him a long time ago.

She did not need any reason to love him. She had reasoned then. How foolish had she been? The thought shook her pride, and a small sob stole up her throat. It hurt—it hurt so much to be so foolish. Why had she never crafted another reason? A reason that she would chase him if he loved her, even just a little, too?

He never looked back at her. He avoided her gaze and eluded the heavy stare of her desire-filled eyes. He treated her like a plague that would taint him if he touched, soil him if he got closer, wound his tongue if he ever forced himself to speak a kind word for her. Pitiful, so pitiful she was. She would find a reason for this love. She had to . . . she gritted her teeth, pressed her hand to her mouth, and swallowed the sobs before they struck the air, shaming her more.

She preserved her pride just a little and rejected the feeling of self-pity overpowering her mind. She had a bit of power now. It would make him submit. His knees would buckle, and he would cringe like a poor peasant in prayer. The Uchiha daemons. She would break the older one, and the younger one would have nothing to shield him—those wings of a cunning crow. He spread them wide and they cast darkness upon her mind. They would lose their rough, ugly feathers, fall off, and wither away. She would take revenge upon them and shred and rip the wings of might and see him fall.

The wings of a Devil in the dark . . . his whispers were those of a daemon. His tongue was slippery and cunning like a daemon. He was a daemon. His fluttering soul was so completely shackled to the younger one. She did not think he even had an existence beyond him. Just a specter he was that roamed obsessively around the younger one to protect him from all the wicked Men in the world. A trickster that wore disguises to fool them all. He did not fool her.

Her jaw set in anger, fingers clenching into fists. Anguish and despair and hatred danced in her gaze. She had fallen on him to seek refuge, but he humiliated her. Perhaps she would wound the younger one and watch as he would wallow in despair when he would not be able to protect him. A tremble of a smile told her tale. Her eyes were even more honest. Yes, she would break the younger one. He was already snared in schemes. How long would he elude those webs? The more he would wriggle, the more helpless his fate . . . their fall was inevitable, and it would be glorious and bloody!

Her eyes caught sight of Tsunade standing close to the edge. She stopped abruptly, slipping on the soft ground. She caught her balance before she fell full length on her face; the sound made Tsunade turn. The weak sunlight shone in her eyes and softened the colour there. She smiled. "It's a lovely morning, Sakura," she said and turned around. "I was just asking Itachi what he thought of the forest at this time of the year, but he's too sober for such frankness."

Sakura took slow steps and tried to catch her breath, her face red from running. She stopped as her eyes fell upon Itachi. He was standing with his back against the tree. His arms were crossed, and his back was unnaturally straight. Even the pallid morning light did not soften his hard features. His skin was too white, a little unnatural in the light. She thought he looked odd as if he had not soaked up the sun in years. Maybe he really was a daemon!

He was looking to his left. It did not seem like he had even acknowledged her presence. Her eyes narrowed, and she felt a bit of anger in her. She looked away, preferring to see her mentor's kind face.

"I will see you in my office at the scheduled time, Itachi," she said to him. He merely uncrossed his arms and walked off towards Konoha. His expression was unreadable save for a prideful glint in his eyes. He vanished after walking for a few feet. So fast . . . it was like a blur; no, a foreboding, evil specter moving through the air.

She did not desire to see more of him. His face filled her with Sasuke's memories and the shame he brought her. She put her hand to her breast, her breaths finally evening out. The haze of anger and fear cleared from her eyes, and she focused them on the lilies. The shadows were still deep in some places across the valley, but the flowers bloomed fair. She inhaled deeply, feeling the fragrance fill her with such warmth.

So many of the lilies grew about the trees. Tsunade smiled at her and rushed down the cliff. She, too, created the same soft smile on her face and followed her. Her feet did not falter as wind rushed at her. It was so cool upon her skin that it made her more aware of the hot blood rushing through her body.

Sakura's heart took to racing. It beat so loudly. She finally jumped and stood still and held her breath to cool her senses, her heart drumming in her ears. She looked around and felt as if the rise of the sun and the strong sunlight made the lilies brighter. The smell of them was so unreal . . . it was as if she could grasp Sasuke. She wanted to trip towards them like a little girl and pluck a few.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Tsunade asked and pulled in a deep breath. She was looking off into the distance. Another great forest lay beyond the hills.

Sakura looked around. The air was cool and sweet-smelling. The shrunken river made nary a sound: it would swell again in spring and summer. "Purple lilies are so peculiar," she began again and Sakura looked at her calm face as she turned around, "petals' shedder is what they call it. It's truly an immortal flower. It never dies—so peculiar that no season can kill it."

Tsunade's smile widened, and then it turned to a pleasant laugh. "It can also be used to kill," she said, and a soft laugh rippled through her voice. "An immortal flower that kills, too—strange, don't you think?" And she was looking at her, and Sakura was looking down. She kept sneaking a gaze back. She did not want to meet her mentor's lovely eyes. They would denude her, make her spill truth against her will.

Moments passed and sweat beaded on the back of Sakura's neck. The air around her smelt like sweat now. She bent down and settled herself amongst the flowers, her eyes bent on the lilies swaying in the breeze. It was so quiet; silence had fallen heavily on the valley. The river did not even sigh like a sleeping babe.

"Why did you make a poison out of this flower, Sakura?" she asked, searching out her eyes that flit stubbornly from one lily to another like a proverbial pink moth.

Sakura dragged her eyes up to meet her gaze. There was hatred in those green depths, but it got softened with sadness and love. "I don't know," she said softly, her mouth drawn down in a trembling bow. Her eyes began to stream out scalding tears. They burnt her like they always did. The shame made her bend her head down even more. Her shoulders stiffened and then they stooped. She just wanted to hide her face.

"Did Danzō ask you to choose this flower?" Tsunade asked and moved towards her. Sakura only heard the rustling of dry grass; she did not raise her head to look back at her.

Sakura shook her head and moved the back of her trembling hand across her eyes. She held back the prickly tears that threatened to erupt and tried hard to control the trembling shaking her body like a dry Sakura flower.

"Then why? Why would you choose such a flower when you know it's Sasuke's favourite?" Tsunade asked, and her voice died in the vastness of the valley so quickly. There was a sad tone to her voice. She could not quite hide it like she had intended.

"I just—" she stopped and clenched her trembling fingers into fists upon her thighs, "I wanted something that would allow me to break free." She raised her head with a sharp jerk—her face warped in sadness and anger. There was such anguish in her gaze that Tsunade did not know what to say.

"I w-wanted something that would free me of him," she said in a shaky, loud voice and pulled herself up to her feet that did not have enough will to support her quivering frame. "I'm just his prisoner. I've tried and I-I've tried, but I can't seem to let go of this feeling, this shameful desire I have for him. How can he punish me for this?" Her breath had hitched in a broken sob, and she hissed with an unseen pain that tore her body apart.

Tsunade could only stare, eyes wide open. The sadness on her face had given way to shock. Her lips were sealed on her fair face. The cold wind did not seem to bother her as it stubbornly pressed against her face like flies. She did not even know it was there.

"He isn't fair. He's never fair to me," she said loudly and her angry words echoed in the broad valley. "He just hurts me. He loves to hurt me. Taunt me. Humiliate me. When all I've ever asked from him was a bit of his love. Is that too m-much to ask?" Her fists were shaking. Her face was shaking. Her whole body was shaking. Anger had completely consumed her.

"Sakura, you . . . " she said softly, and then she could say no more. Her lower lip trembled with emotion, and sadness came into her eyes and face. Sakura was like a daughter to her, and to see her like this was tormenting her. She looked at the soft pink hair whipping around her face. Her cheeks and nose were red. Tears streaked her face, and she wore her emotions for all to see. She looked . . . so sad, and there was nothing she could do for the girl she thought to be her daughter.

"I'm tired of him tormenting me. I'm tired of him rejecting me over and over again. I just wanted his love—a bit of his heart. He couldn't even give me a bit of his time, a little kindness that would be enough to fool me that he—that he—" Her voice balked and great wrenching sobs took over. She pressed her shaking fingers to her quivering lips and squeezed her eyes tight, letting the last bit of tears, still standing in her eyes, flow down her cheeks unopposed.

Tsunade clenched her teeth. She wanted to weep. She pitied her. "You foolish girl," she hissed with emotion. Her shoulders shook from suppressing her tears, but she did not let them materialize in her eyes. She was stronger than that. "You're going to _kill_ yourself over this boy. Why are you doing this to yourself? I don't understand you. How much more have you done for Danzō so that you can exact your revenge upon him?"

Sakura looked at her with emptiness in her eyes and a little bit of shock she could not conceal. "I'm not—"

"Don't lie to me," Tsunade cut her off, angry, "don't be a fool. If Itachi catches wind of this, he _will_ kill you without remorse, and I will never even know about it. Don't expect anything less from him. You can't even hope to outwit Sasuke, let alone Itachi. Doesn't it scare you, this foolish side of yourself? You're walking off to your own death. Don't do this. Don't be so foolish. I love you, Sakura. I love you so much—like I've never loved another. I brought you up like a daughter. Don't repay me so unkindly."

Sakura bit her lower lip and stared down to her feet. She had trampled a few of the lilies. They were dead, and she felt a bit of satisfaction at their fate. The immortal flower was mortal once more. "I love him so much," she said in a whisper, "so much that it—it just hurts. But I hate him just the same. He's so unkind to me. He wouldn't even lose anything if he gave me a few of his moments. But he doesn't care. He just doesn't care. He's so selfish and cruel."

Tsunade was silent. Her heart was a loud gong. Sakura had slipped so far into the darkness of her heart. Why did she never see it? Her breast grew tighter and tighter till she felt that she could not even breathe. If Sakura did anything foolish, Itachi would kill her. If she pulled her back from Danzō so quickly, he would kill her. A crushing wave of helplessness washed over her and she wanted to let out an earsplitting wail. What should she do to help her? What?

"I made the poison to set myself free. Deep down, I wanted him dead so that I could be free," she said in anguish; her eyes filled with torment, and they were cutting Tsunade's heart in two. "As long as he lives like he does now, I can never be free. He isn't fair. He just isn't fair." Her eyes dropped to the flowers again, and she spoke no more.

The mentor closed her eyes. Her heart was crashing violently against the lungs. It struggled as it felt a burden pressing down upon it, crushing it without kindness. She breathed in a few cool breaths and a thought came to her. It calmed that raging, wild heart, and it began to beat with a pace that was bearable for her.

"Go and do your missions," she spoke suddenly without looking at Sakura. Her eyes were looking up. Sun had ensconced itself in the sky: the climb was complete. "I will see you tomorrow."

Sakura looked back at her reluctantly, but she did not say anything. She bowed dutifully before the mentor she loved and ran out of the valley, still carrying the same thoughts in her mind . . .

# # # # # #

Night had fallen. It happened routinely. Shadows advanced quietly like shinobi, and a crow cawed nastily just outside the window. It distracted her eyes for just a moment. Itachi . . . made her afraid.

"Continue, Sakura," Torune said, standing beside Danzō. He sat in a large chair shrouded in shadows. He liked to sit like this. The leader of Root division was a strange old man.

The crow cawed one more time and flew away. The loud sound lingered and trailed off like a whine, and then it vanished. She pulled her eyes away from the window and looked down at the report. "The Yamanaka Sensor examined him. He found nothing out of the ordinary. His bones were broken at several places. He suffered a terrible accident. It was like everything the Anbu Captain suggested," she said and fell silent and her eyes still tried to determine which expression he wore today, but it was impossible to tell.

Danzō drew in a shaky breath. The cold wind did not suit him in old age. He gestured Torune to close the small window and he obliged. "I wonder how he sustained them . . . " he said and breathed in through his nose, and his sagging cheeks puffed out as though he was preparing himself to whistle. "You can leave, Sakura." The moon dipped just a bit, and she saw his aged lips moving in the dark.

Sakura bowed and made to turn, but she stopped. She looked back to him with something of a fearful look in her eyes and face. "Might I ask something?" she asked and lowered her eyes to the floor. It was a little dusty, and the wood was a little old. She did not know why he preferred to sit there close to the window when he got it closed without much thought. She thought that he just wanted to look at the clear sky at night, but she was not sure of this thought.

He straightened in his chair and nodded, his eyes closing with a calm heaviness. Time had made him feel its presence through the years. Sakura took in a deep breath, her heart beating fast, and she smelt the wood-smoke smell that rose up like vapours around her. It was probably a special kind of chakra infused wood. "Can't Itachi be cornered to get Sasuke's eyes?" she asked and immediately lowered her eyes again as if she had spoken something unthinkable.

"Itachi is content with the Uchiha fate. It is not possible to snare him without Sasuke. He is more cunning of the two," he said in a rough, heavy voice, his hand trembling upon the tip of that crooked walking stick. It looked nothing more than a thick branch he had cut some extra twigs off. "It is the younger one who is restless. Mei contacts him. Fū disappears . . . I can see it in his eyes."

"But, Naruto, he—" she fell silent and pressed her lips together with anxiety.

"The seals you have been given simply test his eyes' strength," he said and fisted his hand over the tip more firmly—the talk of his eyes made him restless. "It is not meant to harm Naruto. He is resilient as a vessel. He will not die."

Sakura peered at him through the pink bangs. They clung to the cold sweat on her skin. "He attacked Hinata last time. It's getting worse. I don't understand. You said Naruto won't get hurt," she said in an anxious voice that came out a little louder. The man in the shadows made her afraid.

"Why would I harm the vessel of the essence, you foolish girl?" he said and created an odd smile, and she saw a row of even teeth peeking out of his sagging mouth. "Sasuke is a treacherous boy. The Uchiha are treacherous by nature. They harmed the vessel last time. Your mentor was a council member back then. She, Hiruzen, and Shikaku buried it under so many lies. But it does not change their treachery. If he is capable of controlling the beast, then he needs to be dealt with. Such power should never belong to traitors."

The wind shushed outside, and her gaze wandered a little towards the window again. "The just demise of his Clan's branch has only fueled his hate," he said, and his words dragged her green eyes back to him again, "I have heard whispers from Anbu branch that he disobeys his brother these days. The older one protects him well. He just needs to slip a little, and I will dismantle his mind to reveal his secrets. He killed my subordinate. He cannot be forgiven!" He breathed heavily with emotions.

Sakura peered into the darkness again. Fū was Ino's familiar and her cousin. She was hurt by his death. Ino was her childhood friend. Thinking, she sucked in a breath through her teeth. She loved him, but she hated his cruelty more. Her resolve was made. "What will be his fate?" she asked and put her hand to her breast. Her heart was fluttering so pitifully at her cold decision to pay him back.

Danzō exhaled. The sound of his labored breath was loud. Sweat dripped in beads across his forehead, his right eye dilating in the dark. Something had made him excited, but it was too much for his old age to savour it fully. "The eyes will be taken from him, and his monstrous chakra will be sealed away," he said and saw a little shock flicker across her face. "The Uchiha will be disgraced. Anyone who shielded him will pay the price. Compensation for such crimes will be enormous. They will get a pardon for the strength of Konoha's military, but Itachi will have no choice but to oust him from the Clan."

"Will he really sell out his own brother? He appears to hold him so dear," she asked, and her heart started to beat, crescendoing to a loud staccato—a terrible broken drum. Her eyes were wide. Could she make him hers this way? The mere thought of this possibility was thrilling!

He let out a subdued laugh that had just a touch of greed and cunning. "Itachi is a terrible man," he said, putting the full weight of his hand upon the stick. It trembled, but he managed to raise himself to his feet. "He will choose to keep the beloved toy in his possession—as long as it functions. He will not care what the boy loses to stay alive. He is such a peculiar man. If Sasuke is crushed, then Itachi will be defeated, as well. If the young hawk falls, the devious crow will not be that far behind. He will be thrown out of the Council—a fitting end for his cunning ways."

A slow smile trembled on her lips. A defeated Sasuke? A helpless Sasuke? A Sasuke without his pride and Sharingan that he always used to taunt her? It was a dream come true. Her eyes went wide as shock assaulted her mind. It felt surreal to be in a position to grasp such a wonderful dream where Sasuke would be bound to her, always. Her fingers trembled upon her heaving breast. Words could not even trip from her tongue to tell him how she felt. She had not felt this happy since she saw him for the first time in the Chūnin Academy.

She would force that innocence upon him, which he had discarded on his own so long ago just to play games: the innocence that would be free of his pride. It would make him love her—cherish her. If that was all it took, then so be it!

The loud sound from a crow tried to distract Sakura again, but she did not pretend to hear it, heed the warning she thought it gave her. At that moment, the feeling of darkness was beautiful . . .

The sound of another crow invaded her thoughts. She was distracted for just a moment, a cup of sake in her hand. She took a generous sip of it and put it back on the large table, her cheeks a little pink from intoxication. She directed her eyes back to his. He had not taken his Sharingan out.

"I need you to aid me," she said, her brown eyes hard and determined. "Sasuke could have been interrogated more, but I protected him. It is your turn to stay true to your promises."

He did not say anything. He was quiet. His eyes turned red, and she knew that his Sharingan was answering her. "Times are hard," she began inching closer to him, "it is difficult to find trust in our government. Danzō will only take advantage of us all."

He dragged his eyes up and down over her. He measured her like he measured all. "Is that _all_ you desire?" he asked and created such a barest smile she could not even notice in the dark. The shadows clung to him like hopeful women; they did not seem to, want to, part from him for now.

Tsunade's smile changed to a soft laugh. She put her hand against his cheek and felt the smoothness of his skin. It shocked her for the first time that how young he was. "I have seen you grow up, Itachi," she said with a sincere, soft smile. "You were just a twelve-year-old boy when you came to Anbu. I thought it was wrong, terrible to burden such young soldiers with cruel tasks. I could not stop anyone."

Her hand came away, and she heaved a sigh. "I never wanted this for you—this life of burden for a young boy. I felt it changed you over the years, made you hard and cold. But time had not given me power then. I have it now. I can throw this diseased man out of our ranks—make things different this time," she said in a soft tone and reached her hand up again to brush her fingers across his forehead—a mother's gesture. "What more could a weary old woman like me possibly want from you?"

"Ask and you might receive," he said, his tone almost dulcet, mellifluous. The Sharingan was smouldered hotly in his eyes. An eerie emotion burnt there, but she was not clever enough to name it. His face was cool, calm. She could read nothing there.

She pulled her hand back and smiled. "You precocious, clever little child," Tsunade said with amusement and backed away. She grabbed her cup again and looked back to him. "I showed my cooperation, Itachi, when this matter was a little grave."

"His lies have such a sway on you? I can mollify many fevers . . . " he said again in a voice that was so new to her.

Tsunade looked into the cup and then back to him. He was looking out the window. That Sharingan had lost a bit of its intensity. "I didn't call you here to—" she stopped when his eyes found hers again, pierced into hers deliciously like knives—that intense emotion returning to that deep dark maw, "—satisfy my fevers. You desire the same thing. What did Sasuke do to make him say that with such certainty? He did something terrible, didn't he?" She took a quick sip of her drink. Her comment had not made that look go away. It only intensified as something else, something sinister, mingled with it exquisitely.

"Are you resorting to blackmail, Hokage-Sama?" he said, the honorific rolling off his tongue a little sweetly.

"No," she put the cup down and turned around to face him, "I desire to rid Konoha of him. I've grown weary of his schemes and his radical ideals. I need someone to get me a scroll—an important one. Only you're capable of it."

He was silent. His eyes were playing such odd tricks on her mind that she felt something stir in her—just a little. "Break a girl's mind with your illusions. Rip that seal apart. Tear that memory out and get me the scroll. And I," she paused, dragging in a single deep breath, "I will protect Sasuke, _always_." She looked sincere. Honest.

He regarded her pink face for a second longer. "Tsukuyomi will kill anyone swiftly who is not an Uchiha. It must be a powerful family if it hides something you are so restless for," he spoke, his tone unchanging, and it still made her uneasy, made her feel that sensation again. "Are you willing to kill a girl from a powerful family to secure your reign? I am a little surprised by your clever show of desires."

"She's no saint," she said, and a little anger came into her voice against her will. "Your Genjutsu is capable of such sinister things. So many secrets, such rumours that it tampers with the minds. Do it again. Do it for me this time. Just get me that scroll, and I don't care what Sasuke does, as long as you can keep him in line."

Silence fell around them. A slow smile came to Itachi's face, but he said nothing . . .

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	45. Lady of the Wolves

**Chapter Forty-Five** : Lady of the Wolves

 **AN** : **Strategicians** is more of a coined word rather than a proper one with a technical "sense". It is usually found in research books. Regardless, I thought its use to be appropriate for this chapter.

Two Japanese words were used in this chapter: **Okami** means _wolf,_ and **Shitchi** simply translates into _marsh_.

 **Kikyo** is more Japanese in mannerisms and dialogues. Her dialogues are layered with metaphors like aristocratic women's poetry from the **Heian Period**.

It's not the same (it's more of an inspiration affair), but I wanted her to have a little colour of the women of that era. Do read her dialogues very carefully. I had a lot of fun writing them. I hope you end up enjoying her character, as well.

# # # # # #

It was raining again. A light pitter patter that made his heart thump out a tune of displeasure; he was a little irritated. Rain fell against the stones, the tiles on the roof of the waiting place, and the basin. It was overflowing with water. The stepping stones were slick and wet; the grass was soggy. The lanterns sitting by the stones were out. He could make out shapes of Kirins and Weasels upon them.

He was asked to bare his upper arms for today by Tsunade. It was done to show the Anbu Captain tattoo: this one was different from the others and had four droplet-like patterns that created a single black shuriken. Such a serious affair it was to bare it for all eyes to see. He really never understood its significance. His stature in the military was not a hidden affair. He closed his eyes, thinking. Tsunade . . .

"Okami Clan? Konoha Elders have so many strange allies," he said, his eyes shining like the brightest fireflies in the darkness of her office.

"They did," Tsunade paused, taking a quick sip and looking back into his eyes, "they still do. I thought you to be such an obedient boy, Itachi. Do I sense a little change in you? Changes can be so sweet." She smiled, and her eyes twinkled in the light of the lantern.

Itachi was silent. A strong wind was blowing outside, but its grave sounds did not invade his thoughts. Those were his territories—his private places. His lies hid there, carving themselves into the walls of his mind, tearing them to create new patterns, such wondrous landscapes. They were limitless in their creations and destructions. It was such an odd little thing—a natural little thing.

"I am sending you as an Anbu Captain to oversee the matter concerning the bandits that have been brewing trouble for their outposts," she said and eyed the cup with a single frown in her brow: the small cup was empty now. She put it down with a little force, as if its emptiness angered her, and returned her attention back to the man standing in the dark. "We have asked for their aid concerning our outposts, as well. Your task is to break apart that seal on that girl."

"The magic of the Uzumakis? They are such crafty tricksters," he said, sounding almost amused. His eyes stayed the same, like the unmoving deep waters of a lake at night.

"Make light of it in amusement if you wish, boy, but that seal prevents you from breaking through the barriers in her head," she said and inhaled sharply. "You won't get the scroll or its location without reading that girl's mind."

"She is their secret keeper?" he asked and moved his head just a little that his eyes seemed to appear like two burning moths hovering in the air, awaiting death.

"They're always daughters. They're taught to be good strategicians," she said and suddenly let out a small laugh. "It's odd that they are shunned from becoming Shinobis. Their minds are so strong. It's a genetic trait passed on through women in their line. A strong burst of chakra guards their thoughts. It's turned into an impenetrable barrier with the seals. It would be impossible even for a Sharingan to break through. But you—you're different, Itachi."

There were a few words on his tongue, icy words that lingered there, bitter words, but he chose silence. She went on with a smile dancing on the lips painted red daily to tempt men: "you can break that mind apart and find the scroll in her memories. It tells the tale of the night connected to a grave matter. I want to know what happened, all those moons past."

Lightning flashed, and his face came into view just once before it was hidden away by darkness again. It was a little rigid, a little cold. "There is no guarantee that this small venture will gain me enough time to use Tsukuyomi upon her," he said, and his words were void of emotions, "it can kill her before I avail a chance to open the seal. Are you willing to start a political conflict over a trinket that might be of no use to you now and earn you a war in return?"

She narrowed her eyes, and a bold smile broke out on her face touched with just a hint of rosiness around the cheeks. "Are you unwilling to take any risks for your brother? I thought he was so dear to you?" she asked and saw those red spots float a little to the right again, "I suppose words are just words, after all."

"Kindly, do not treat me like a proverbial, burden-bearing ass attached to a rusty old cart, with a carrot and a stick in the front," he said with a dry tone to his voice. "I am willing to do many things, but a war means that you give Danzō a reason to proceed on with his lofty ideals. You would have paved his path for him. What are you thinking?"

"If she dies, then who would know it was you?" she asked, the corners of her luscious mouth trembling to form a full smile upon that lovely face knotting in challenge and a bit of anger and excitement.

"The thrills of the seat are head-spinning, but it should not cloud your judgment to this degree," he spoke, and the fires in his eyes burnt bright. "Okami Clan work for Cloud. They are their obedient hounds. The new treaty in place will be shred to pieces by this grave mistake. It would fan flames of war . . . and everyone will lose _everything_."

"Don't play games with me, boy," she said, her voice hissing in cold fury. "Just answer my question, who else would know?" Her face had changed. He saw it harden in anger and disdain, and he knew he had to answer.

"No one else," he said slowly, his red eyes watching a strip of grey shadow come over her fair face and lie there like the lightest of curtains.

"Then I am not asking you, Itachi, I am commanding you to come through and bring me that scroll," she said, and her voice rose wildly with command. Her eyes had tracked his face amidst the shadows. It was as if they had receded back at her whim. She looked ferocious, the lantern's light shining in her eyes, granting them a strange kind of fire he had never seen before.

"As you wish," he said and spoke no more. His face was completely emotionless. A war? Waves of distress crashed through him, but he did not let anything reveal itself on his face and brow.

He turned around and made to leave when she spoke again: "she loves to indulge in beautiful things—a bit foolhardy." She poured out another cup of sake.

Itachi blinked; his Sharingan vanished, his eyes upon her face again. She was wearing a mischievous smile now, her cheeks warming up when she took a sip of that red one, and she took it with such relish. "What are you suggesting?" he asked and moved his head just a little to feel a cool draft, coming in from a tiny gap in the window, on his right cheek.

"You'll see," she said, smiling. Her cheeks grew redder and redder as though she was tasting that sake for the very first time. "I asked Sakura about that flower you spoke of. She made it because your brother mistreats her—a symbol of freedom for her, as she told me. Nothing more. Danzō had little to do with that choice."

"I am crushed with surprise," he said coldly. It was hard to miss that dry sarcasm.

"It wouldn't hurt Sasuke to be a little kind to her," she said and drank the final mouthful of sake and put that cup aside. "He's so young. He can still learn. You only strive to discipline him. Teach him to be kind, too."

Itachi merely smiled and turned around to leave. He opened the door, and her words stopped him from leaving: "Autumn moths are always male and those purple lilies are unisexual male flowers, too," she said, her voice heavy with emotions, "the pink moths that birth the purple ones die. They either burn to death upon the flames of the purple lanterns they assume to be those lilies, or autumn's cold and the poison gets them. Autumn is their final grave. Your brother may have the allure of the lilies, but Sakura is no pink moth. You will keep your flames away from her at the cost of your brother's safety!"

He heard her take in a deep breath, and she spoke again, her words a little cold—cold enough to touch his skin and make it shiver just a little with delight: "I wonder which one of you worships the other as if he's a faultless Kami." And her words died into silence, and he smiled before he left her alone in the darkness of the office . . .

Itachi opened his eyes, and a weak light of sun greeted him. He tilted his head slightly down to look at that thin scar line. He would have preferred to conceal it. Now, he was wearing it upon himself like some kind of half-heartedly accepted mark of battle. It was a cheap show of courage: a clean, straight healed-cut started from his shoulder and cut through that shuriken etched into his skin, like a keen sword, and travelled down, disappearing behind the black gloves that trailed up well past his elbows.

An expression of displeasure came across his face, but it disappeared quickly. Wind rushed at him from the left, and he turned his face away from the brunt of chill. The metal armguards on his arms were dotted with rainwater now. The rain mellowed again, and the shushing sound died down abruptly.

Kai suddenly appeared from beyond the trees; he opened the small bamboo gate and made his way towards the waiting area. He was pink in the face. "Itachi-Sama, the Shitchi squad raided the outskirts. They found a few hidden outposts, but the bandits got away," he said, exhaling loudly. His warm breath was like feathery wisps in the cold.

"I did not expect them to find anything," he said and turned his gaze a little to an old man standing under the broad roof of the tea-house. A pipe was tucked at the left corner of his mouth, and he was squinting his eyes against the smoke. A cascade of rainwater fell down from the fine-tiled roof in front of him. He could see his aged feet trembling from the spray of cold water.

Itachi brought his eyes back to Kai. "Tell Serizawa to inform the woman to meet me in the sitting room," he said and moved to his right. It was customary to rinse the hands and mouth before entering the tea-house. He palmed water into his mouth, spat it out, and washed his hands next.

The stone-path was slippery, the wind cold, but his heartbeat was rock-solid. The old man bowed low and muttered a shaky greeting. He opened the sliding door, and a warm smell of tea rushed at him from inside. Taking off his wet sandals, he stepped onto the wooden floor, and the door was slid shut behind him. Scrolls hung on the walls, and a partition screen separated the small entrance from the anteroom: a little issue of a thin smoke crept up behind the screen. Silhouettes of few women moved left and right daintily over the fine painting.

Itachi opened the sliding door to his right. The sitting room was small: a mat covered the floor, and the smell of sandalwood filled the air, mixing with the familiar scents of chamomile and smoke. (The girls had already performed the incense ceremony.) He closed the door and sat down crossed-legged by the small sunken fireplace. The coal was burning, and the pot hanging above it was red-hot.

He closed his eyes and listened to the soft sounds of a woman's steps. Not a moment later, the door behind him was opened and closed with feminine care. Then, as though announcing her arrival, a smell of flowers crawled up his nose. This woman liked her perfumes. The steps made their way around him. Soft and light they were, and he opened his eyes to gaze upon the woman before him.

She was young, twenty-six years of age, he assumed. She wore a touch of traditional makeup on her face: her lips were painted red with the shade of berries, and bits of artificial colour of a rosy blush covered her powdered white cheeks. She bent her head and knees slightly and spoke in a lilting, soft voice that matched the sweetness of her smile: "it is such an honor to meet you, Itachi-Sama. I am Abukara Kikyo from the Okami Clan."

She settled herself carefully upon the cushion on the mat and opened the hand-fan in her hand with the practiced flick of her wrist. She raised her hand and held it before her face. He could only see her eyes and a bit of her right cheek now.

"When my men from Shitchi told me that the Head of the Uchiha Clan and commander of Anbu corps had agreed to our terms, I expected someone . . . decrepit and elderly. But—" she stopped, sighed, and her eyes shrank to tiny slivers that set that red-ish makeup around them aflame in the light of the fire, "you are _such_ a beautiful man. It is almost wicked the way you look—unfair even. I have heard that your brother is even more beautiful than you. Is that true? I believe it to be so unreal."

Itachi saw her lips curled in a smile behind the fan. "Are you flattering me?" he asked and saw that cunning smile widen just a bit.

"No, Sage no, Itachi-Sama," she said and fluttered the fan in her hand slightly, "I have little need for fake flatteries. I simply love beautiful things and I am honest about them. Like this soft blood-red fan in my hand and that long curve of your white throat." She closed the fan a little harshly in her firm fist, and the beads dangling from the pins in her buns chinked, and lowered her hand. Her smile was gone, her eyes almost predatory in the strong light of the fire.

He fixed her with a cool stare for a moment and spoke, "the bandits you spoke of in your missive . . . their outposts are empty. I thought your men had everything under control. Where did they hide this time?"

Kikyo moved her arm up and pressed the hand covered by that long, colourful sleeve to her lips, and then she let out a muffled little laugh. "Silly little men," she said, and the laughter rattled through her breast, "I told them that they could have checked the outposts in the mountains, but I am just a simple-minded woman in their eyes. They hardly listen to me, Itachi-Sama. Maybe, now that you are here, they might get a little motivated to locate the hideouts."

"A Byakugan would have sufficed, yet you desired a Sharingan wielder," he said and saw something flare in her eyes quickly and powerfully.

"Forgive my mawkishness, but you sound as cold as the colour of your throat, Itachi-Sama. A little red of the fan would suit you well," she said in a subdued, soft voice. "I simply wanted to see the Sharingan. It has been so long since I laid my eyes upon one. It imbues things with such wondrous colours. Not everything looks beautiful if it is black—or white," she spoke with such softness again that that one rosy cheek he could see tightened with a smile.

"Are beautiful colours the only reason for your requests? You are overindulgent with such things. Perhaps your men are wary for a reason," he said calmly, and she let out another trill of laughter, her shoulders heaving.

She opened her fan again and moved it slowly back and forth above her breast. He could barely see her face behind its movements now. "Let the lady keep a bit of her mystique." She tilted her head down a little as though she was bowing. "All in due time. I shall satisfy every little curiosity of yours, and you _will_ satisfy every bit of mine," she stressed on the word _will_ rather severally.

Silence fell heavily, and in that fraction of silence in between, he heard a stone break on the outside. Winds and rains had cracked it at last. "Tell your men to prepare themselves. I would require their lists. If the Hokage allows, we will take our leave tomorrow," he said in a heavy voice laced with a bit of command.

"Snow might fall—one man told me under the expanse of stars yesterday. They twinkled and glimpsed like little fish in a pond," Kikyo said and looked him straight in the eyes, showing such intensity and fire in them. "He lay down a white cloth upon the grass and asked of me to prick my finger just a bit. It was beautiful as the red drops spread upon the cloth like that, soaking through. It pained me just a bit . . . and then it was _such_ pleasure. My skin was awash in desires. I wonder if the snow, white as your throat, looks like that, too, when it is touched by red like that."

Kikyo closed her eyes and let out a long, weary sigh and got to her feet. She bowed before him and silently left the room the same way she came. He heard her leave and at last he looked at the red fan she had left on the cushion. Try as he might, he could not remember meeting any woman as strange as her. Time was so short, and the lady of the wolves, cunning. This would be . . . impossible.

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"I can't grant you a leave," Sasuke said and threw the scroll back on the table. "The Team has fallen behind in my absence, and you need to do many missions before you understand what it means to work in missions."

"But—" she protested and stopped abruptly. Her eyes were upon his face that looked bright in the morning light. The clouds had broken and rain was gone. Sun had taken over, and she felt a tingling sensation of warmth on her right cheek.

"You're the one who wanted to come back to this life, Hinata," he said and pulled at his drawer to take out another scroll, "I hope these are the thrills you were looking for." He unrolled the scroll and gazed at her again with an insouciant look on his face.

"Minato-Sama has summoned me and Naruto to his manor to talk—" she broke off, pressing a hand to her breast to calm her heart, "—about an heir. I-I have to be there, or else my father would be shamed as he made him a promise." She huffed out a sigh and lowered her eyes. She looked ashamed.

A chill went through Sasuke. A shiver shook his legs, and he got up from his chair almost against his will. "Did you find out about the payment Minato was involved in?" he asked and drew closer.

Hinata raised her soft eyes and found him standing only two feet away from her. Her face grew warm, and she looked down to her hands again. She was holding her fist tightly in the other hand. "No, I'm—I'm sorry. I couldn't find anything in my house," she said, rubbing her fingers together nervously.

"That's unfortunate," he said in a soothing, cool voice and moved his hand to grab a tuft of her hair from over her breast. "It would've aided you so much."

Hinata's heart was throbbing in her veins, her eyes moving over the look of mischievousness on his face. "Aided me?" she asked weakly, and her face broke out in sweat. An electric current traveled from the hair he was rubbing slowly between his fingers to her heart, and it felt lovely.

"Yes," he said in a small excited voice, drawing so close to her that her heart began to leap and swell and flutter in wild anticipation. "If Minato was involved with Danzō in some nasty affair that isn't a part of records, then you can just use it to break free if he doesn't let you. It would be so easy that way. Your father will be free of his schemes, as well. Wouldn't it all come together just wonderfully?" He bent his head down, and his warm breaths felt so hot upon her neck and cheek.

"Y-You think so?" she asked, her skin trembling upon her young flesh, her mouth smiling in a way as though she was caught in the boyish tricks of his Sharingan.

"I know so," he replied playfully and bent further down to whisper. "Take a leave of two days. I'll come to your house when the night falls."

His voice rippled deliciously in her ear, and when he backed away, she desired for him to touch her there with his lips again. He flicked his head to indicate that she should leave. She bowed and left the room in silence.

Not a second passed and Suigetsu stepped into his office. His purple eyes fell upon Sasuke's angry face, and he created a sheepish grin in response. "Nii-Sama took Karin with him, and Jūgo was sent by Tsunade to manage the bandit business in the east," he said, and his eyes shrank into severe red slits. "What am I to do with the one person I don't need right now?"

"Hey, I may be made of water, but I've got meself a heart," he said in mock indignation and slammed his fist into his puffed out breast—as if Sasuke did not know where his heart was.

Sasuke gritted his teeth and looked at the window. The sun was burning brightly, and the light was strong. All that rainwater in the grounds would evaporate by noon. "I went to that damned hearing, did all that he asked of me, but Nii-Sama still doesn't trust me," he said and brought his eyes back to Suigetsu whose smile had turned into a toothy grin by now.

"I don't either," he said with laughter in his voice, "but his trust is the least of yor problems. Kai might stay here. I get a feelin' that this one just doesn't like ya, and then we have yor brother's nasty lil' crow sittin' and poopin' in the only tree outside yor office. I feel so sad for ya, lovely!"

Sasuke's lips curled in impish delight. "The crow should vanish in a week or two. The bandit business is nasty and it will take so long. I've heard that Kikyo is no easy meal. I wonder why my brother went to that terrible wench when he could've arranged for anyone else. I wonder—" he said and looked up at the fan in thought. "It doesn't matter. The bandits will attack that Konoha outpost soon at the call of a hawk, yes?"

"Slippin' out durin' the chaos? Yor such a nasty lil' imp, Sasuke," he said and let out a rough laugh. "How do ya plan on makin' that crow vanish? What did ya do, ya wicked boy?" He crossed his arms and wore a big grin on his face, watching as a cool and cunning look came over Sasuke's face completely.

"You'll see," he whispered and his eyes were red; and Suigetsu could only manage a laugh. These brothers were so amusing . . .

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	46. A New Guest

**Chapter Forty-Six** : A New Guest

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Naruto drank down a mouthful of sake, grinning, his cheeks and forehead tinged red. Sasuke was surprised that someone could look so happy and drunk at the same time. He looked out the window. It was night, and he had been sitting here, entertaining Naruto, for the past six hours.

Naruto shakily grabbed the bottle from the table and positioned it over that tiny cup. His jittery hands could barely hold the cup he was pouring sake into from the bottle. His shoulders shook, and he blinked several times to focus on the cup. It looked as if he was holding four of them. He slopped sake all over the table and gave an apologetic laugh.

"All right, you have had enough," Sasuke said, taking the bottle and glass from his hands. Naruto made an irritated face in protest and pressed his cheek into the wooden table, his blue eyes bulging out of his sockets. He gazed at the waitress and gestured her to come over. She toddled to their table, with a cloth held tightly in her hand. "Clean this up and take these away."

The young waitress, a little pink around the cheeks, sat down and wiped the table clean. She took the bottle and cup from his hands. "Do you need anything else, Sasuke-Sama?" she asked shyly and lowered her lashes.

"No," he said tersely and saw her lips turn down in disappointment. She picked herself up, holding that glass and bottle high, and waded her way through the customers. The place was packed tonight. The fumes from the spices were thick and heavy. They made him cough and his eyes water.

"She wanted to sleep with you," Naruto said with a gurgling sound and moved his head a little to look up at him. "How can you be so cold, Sasuke?" Then he smacked his face down on the table again.

"She isn't free," he said, folded his arms, and looked around again to watch Suigetsu emerge with a pink-looking Neji from behind the crowd.

"He filled himself up like a nice fat bottle," Suigetsu said with a rough chuckle, his mouth twisting mundanely to form a wicked smile. He sat down next to Sasuke and gave Naruto a heavy slap on the back. The blond jerked up to a sitting position, his eyes wide, and he stared to the left and then to the right as if he did not know where he was. Finally, he buried his hand in his sweaty hair and pulled his lips back into a big smile.

Sasuke bent his head a little to the left and broke out into a chuckle. Naruto was always a hilarious drunk. "Are you all right, Naruto?" Neji asked and squeezed his eyes tight. He stiffened his hand and pressed it against his upper lip: he was about to sneeze. "It's a little difficult to breathe in here." He gave a sharp shake of his head. His eyes were watering badly.

"Did ya pick up a bird, ya blond goof?" Suigetsu asked, bending forward and thrusting his face in front of Naruto.

Naruto blinked several times in response and made a bizarre, horrified face that was a stuff of absurdities to say, "no!"

"Naruto is more like a hopeless romantic," Neji spoke and wiped sweat from his face with the back of his hand. Several sunken fireplaces were burning bright in the restaurant; it was so hot in here. He was glad he was not wearing his flak jacket tonight.

"What's that supposed ta mean?" Suigetsu asked, pulling a really surprised face as though he did not know that such a concept could even exist.

"It means that he's content with a peck on the cheek and an endless wait for the familiar stiffness to cool down on its own—magically every night," Sasuke said and watched in amusement as a deep colour rose up from Naruto's neck to the last visible part of his forehead. At that moment, the effects of alcohol were gone for sure. He looked livid. Neji and Suigetsu had burst out laughing.

"You grouch, that's a lie!" Naruto shouted in anger, and to his astonishment, Sasuke burst out laughing again. "Laugh all you want, Sasuke, but I'm a one-woman man—not like you who climbs onto more women than a single rooster does in the entire barn-house." He clenched his jaws and turned his red face away in a huff.

"Accusing me of something so grave when Neji's around?" he said in amusement and looked at Neji who bent his head down and put his hand upon his eyes in embarrassment.

"Hah, stories!" Naruto retorted and grabbed a cup of water from the table and downed the water in one gulp.

"No, it's the truth," he said with childish amusement, his eyes red and streaming out tears. "He's sampled more women in one year than I have in more than six years of my life. How many did you pay for last time in Mist? Five?" Neji's eyes popped out, and his face turned deep red. The sparse freckles scattered around his nose had vanished in that bright blush of shame. He looked away to the door as though he was distracted by the blue lanterns there.

"I don't believe you," Naruto gasped sharply and hugged Neji's head to his breast and started stroking his head like a mother might hug a sad child. "You've spoilt this innocent man. One could mistake him for a monk. How could you?" He still looked a little drunk.

"The only monk around this table is you," Sasuke said, his eye squinting against the sharp light of the lantern overhead. He moved his hand up and wiped away the tears. Suigetsu had his hand pressed to his lips, and he was laughing.

"Sasuke, you—" Naruto began, shaking his finger in the air. He was about to launch into another one of his boring lectures. Neji was wretched out of his hold by the laughing Suigetsu. His hair was disheveled as if he had been rolling around in bed.

"Get up," Sasuke spoke before he could say any more and slapped his hand on the table, "let's go home. You had had enough fun for today."

"So soon—why?" he complained like a child and grabbed hold of Sasuke's arm. His grip was firm and strong, and he had that pleading look in his eyes and face.

"What do you mean why? You've been drinking for six hours now. Look at the time," he said and pointed his hand at the clock hanging way up on the wooden wall. "It's four a.m. You know how you get when you're drunk. Last time you nearly broke your neck when you danced and jumped off the tiled roof of that woman's home."

"I don't remember," he said dismissively and firmed his hold on Sasuke's arm. "Don't leave so soon, you cold grouch. You promised that you'll treat me to drinks if my Jōnin application got accepted. So now you're staying."

Sasuke put his arm on the table and twisted his neck to look back at Naruto's happy face. He was about to speak when Suigetsu forestalled him: "come now, Sasuke. It's just one night. It's not like Itachi-Sama's home. Kai's drinkin' and eatin' way over there. All's clear." He slapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly.

"Fine," he said with a sigh and Naruto clapped once excitedly, "you can control him when he turns into a court-jester."

"Come on, how bad could it be?" Suigetsu asked and eyed Naruto with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He ordered the waitress to bring the strongest sake she could find . . . and then it was mayhem.

Ten cups of that stuff later, Naruto climbed the table and was swaying his arms wildly and suggestively, singing: "my body was light like the Futon, I knew she had nothing on!"

The crowd sitting around the table jeered and roared. One lantern was still lit right above Naruto's head—it was like a performance in a court before a group of fat aristocrats. Suigetsu slammed his fist on the table and barked with laughter. Neji was shaking with suppressed laughter beside him. He had tears in his eyes. Kai sat next to Suigetsu. His mouth was hanging open, and the dumpling wedged between his perfect teeth fell out and rolled under the table.

"I gave her a slap on the rump and told her it was time for me to hump," he warbled shrilly and noises rose from the crowd. He swayed a little to the left and then to the right, his head lolling lifelessly.

"He turns into a pervy lil' poet when he's drunk—what an inspiration!" Suigetsu exclaimed and slapped his hand on the table again. Sasuke was not amused . . .

"I told her that it was not about love and I swooped down on her from above," he sang more loudly and suddenly leapt off the table, in a manner that he was swooping down on something, and started running towards the door.

"Naruto, wait!" Sasuke shouted from behind him and hastily got to his feet. The crowd sitting around the table dispersed, and not a moment later, a loud whacking sound resounded in the restaurant: Naruto had bumped into a pillar and was running to the wall now; and before Sasuke could stop him, he smacked into the wall and knocked himself out senseless.

The crowd laughed, and in a flash of several colourful lights, Naruto's world went as dark as the deepest corner of his empty Gama-Chan wallet. He fell back into a crumpled heap on the floor—almost lifeless.

Sasuke rushed to him and sat down. "Naruto, are you all right?" he asked, clamping his hand on his very still shoulder, and watched as a slow smile touched his face. He was out cold. "I hope you're happy, Suigetsu." He frowned, irritated.

"He looks fine. Nothin' important broken for the swoopin' down, right?" he joked and sat down to grab Naruto's arm. Neji was quiet and red in the face. Even he looked a little drunk.

Sasuke twisted his head to look at the time. It was well past six a.m.; sun was already up, and he had not slept a wink. His brother would be furious . . .

Sun had gone half-way below the horizon and was showing like a dull-red ball of fire. Shadows were starting to stretch under the trees, behind the pillars and men, too. The wind was cool, but the water on the ground had evaporated. Sun had been strong for Konoha today.

He made his way to Tsunade's office. It was quiet today. The Teams' exercises had ended, and the halls were empty save for a few guards. He opened the door, and his eyes fell upon Shizune. She was standing next to Tsunade with a large stack of files in her hands.

"You can leave and attend to another business. I need to speak to the Hokage," he commanded. She gave a quick nod, nervously left the office, closed the door behind her.

"Back so soon?" she asked, and she was smiling the same smile of mischievous triumph.

"The outposts were empty," he said a little coldly. "I did not think it was wise to take my leave again without informing you first of the situation."

"Well, you can leave, Itachi. You have my consent in this matter," she said and her red lips quivered with a strange smile that was starting to test his patience.

He looked at her coolly. His face had a blank expression, and he watched her with a meaningless gaze. He was such a trickster. "She is simply playing a game," he began and saw that smile plastered over her fair face widen tantalizingly, "there were never any bandits there. It seems as though she desires more from you. Assimilation into Konoha, perhaps—a reward for these childish games."

"Are you certain that she desires something from _me_?" she asked, and his eyes shrank with a bit of temper.

"An alliance with the Uchiha Clan is out of the question. I am not giving her a Sharingan for her pitiful advances, either," he said, and his voice had an undercurrent of indifference.

"I wanted Sasuke for this mission," she said and irritation flashed to mild shock in his deep black eyes. "He blows hot and cold at the right moments. I remember sending him off to gather information about those bamboo makers' secret activities last year. The mistress of the clan still weeps that he ruined her." She eyed him with mild amusement. A hot blush burnt in her white cheeks.

Itachi was silent. An odd fragrance from the sake bottle permeated the room. Her office smelt like a restaurant. She gave a small controlled laugh and pressed two of her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "But you would have been against it," she said and leant back into her chair to look into his hard eyes without fear, "and his Genjutsu isn't powerful enough to complete the task. This new seat's given you so much power to control him, hasn't it? What's her opinion of you? Tell me, I am interested to hear it." She squinted her left eye against the sunlight that poured in through the window on the left. It was a bright morning.

He remained silent for a span of three heartbeats, meeting her eyes with an unfriendly look in his. His Sharingan could not rise up to thaw his demeanor. "She simpers and has a rather . . . obscene and vulgar obsession with my throat," he said with great indifference.

Shock and mischievousness pulled her brow high, widening her eyes. Her white face grew soft with wonder; then her face turned red and she started laughing. The trickiness was back. "That's fascinating," she said, after laughing some more. "Your frigidness has merit, it seems. I didn't think she would be interested in a man as cold as you."

"At least, you are enjoying the seat of a wistful spectator," he said and there was a light smile on his lips now.

A little anger and challenge washed over her face, but she smiled through it with ease. "This isn't something you haven't done before. Why do you run away from it this time? Is it Sasuke's wild demeanor that worries you so? After all, you're being parted from him for a few weeks. You won't be able to see him, watch over him. It must make you so sad, afraid. After all, you love him so dearly. Who knows what other troubles he might create in your absence? What has he done that causes you so much distress . . . _really_?" she asked, and that Sharingan finally surfaced like unleashed hounds of war to protect the sturdy gates of his heart.

Itachi smiled and such an unkind smile it was that Tsunade felt her spine tingle with fear. "I hope you remember your promises about pink moths. They are burnt so easily by the light of the lantern—so easily seduced," he said and let out a pleasant sigh as though he was already lamenting her fate.

Tsunade's heart shivered at his morbid sense of humour, but that smile did not falter. "Take your leave as soon as you can," she said and looked down to the scrolls on the table. "I will summon you whenever it becomes necessary. Get this done."

She heard him leave, and finally, that expression on her face crumbled so completely. She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes and breathed in and out loudly. She needed that scroll and she needed it soon.

Shadows lay thick in every corner—evening was only a few hours away. Silence and sleep had fallen heavily upon the forest. It would be dark soon. He took quick steps towards his manor. A few Uchiha children still played in front of their homes. One of the little girls smiled and blushed behind her hands as he passed by.

Two red lanterns hanging at the gates were lit. Tanaka was old, but he knew his duties. He had been in his family for two generations. He was thinking of relieving him of these responsibilities that were so terrible in such an old age. His thoughts were broken by the wind. It was still soft and mild. The morning sun had robbed this autumn day of its cold. He looked to the ground at the far right of the garden and found purple lilies just beginning to poke out of the soft dirt. They knew how to hide from the harsh sun.

Itachi opened the heavy front door and took off his sandals by the rack on the right. The manor was redolent of the sweet smell of meat and the briny scent of seaweed. It smelt like the cold breeze from the sea at night. He closed the door and took in a heavy breath and stepped onto the wooden floor.

Tanaka came rushing to him from the right. He seemed a little anxious. "Itachi-Sama, you are home early," he spoke breathlessly and took the sword from his hand. His old fingers trembled with age and exertion.

"Did you prepare the dinner?" he asked, tracking the swollen veins, unable to drag his eyes away from those weary hands: he really was too frail and old for his duties.

"Sage no, Itachi-Sama," he said and created a sad smile on his heavily wrinkled face, his small eyes sparkling with emotion, "I am too weary for such duties now. I asked my grandson and granddaughter to prepare them for you. They are good children. They will please you." And he was looking up at him, his smile vanishing, his face growing long as he tightly held the sword to his small breast that had no firmness of youth.

"You should rest for the night," he said and took the sword from his hand to place it upon the rack on the left. "I hope you told Sasuke that Obā-San is coming over with a guest. He likes to forget things on purpose."

"I—well—" he broke off and rubbed his aged hands together in distress. The deep lines in his forehead deepened, and a nervous smile came to his lips.

"Tanaka, I told you last time not to hide his mistakes from me," he said a little harshly and the old man fell silent. "Where is he? I instructed Kai to watch him and he cannot even perform such a simple task." He looked at the door, and the Mangekyō in his right eye pulsed to life. It vanished and he took in a deep breath. The crow was sitting outside . . .

"He is just tired, Itachi-Sama," he rasped and put his hands to his breast. "I was going to wake him up in a few minutes—"

"He is _still_ sleeping?" he asked, and a hint of irritation crossed his face. He walked to Sasuke's room with Tanaka scampering in his wake.

"Please, Itachi-Sama, don't punish him!" he pleaded and stopped when Itachi gave him a cold glare and turned his back to him.

Itachi slid open the door and found Sasuke sleeping on his stomach on the futon. His face was pressed into the pillow and half of his right leg was lying on the cold floor: he had pulled the kakebuton over himself a bit haphazardly. A faint light was pouring in through the paper-screen window on the right. It was just enough to limn his white arms, neck, and the pinkish underside of his foot. The lantern sitting next to the futon was out.

"Sasuke, wake up," he said coldly and bent down to pull the kakebuton off his body. Sasuke's hand shot out and he dragged it back over himself.

"Leave me alone, Tanaka," he groaned into his pillow, "just lock the door from inside . . . and tell me before . . . before . . . " And he fell asleep again.

"It is past five p.m.," Itachi spoke heavily with a note of irritation in his voice. "Shame on you, Sasuke." He grabbed the corner of the kakebuton and jerked it off his body.

When the cold air in the room and Itachi's voice hit him, he scrambled to his feet. He breathed a little heavily and tried to focus his sleepy eyes on his brother's hazy face. His cheeks were pink from shame.

"Why are still in your uniform? You had no missions today," Itachi spoke and threw the light kakebuton on the futon, "and what is this strange smell . . . ?" He looked around with a little confusion and sniffed the air a few times.

Itachi bent forward and took a whiff of Sasuke's breath and skin. He backed away after he caught a whiff of Sasuke's alcohol-laden breath, and this time, he looked furious. "Have you been drinking?" Itachi asked and his eyes turned red. He smelt as though he had been soaking himself up in sake. "What did I tell you last time? Has something gone terribly wrong with your memory?"

Sasuke bent his head and looked down at his feet. "Naruto's application got accepted," he said in a small voice and gulped down the big lump in his throat. "He insisted that I should celebrate with him. I couldn't refuse him . . . "

"Will you leap off a cliff if he insisted?" he asked in a mocking voice. "Of course you will not. You only accept the requests that you enjoy. Well, did you have a _good_ time? I can only hope that my sweet child was not left behind after emptying out his wallet for that fool."

Sasuke pressed his lips together. He did not say anything. His eyes were still roaming around his toes. "When did you come home? I hope all of the good families did not see you limping home with a sake bottle in hand," he said more icily, and Sasuke's cheeks grew hotter—he was ashamed beyond belief.

"Nine a.m.," he said in an even smaller voice, and Itachi let out a breath of disappointment, his features set in irritation. "I got cornered by three women in the restaurant. They wouldn't let me leave, and I—"

"Three women? I am so proud of you. I am just anticipating the day when you will conquer and vanquish many more—all at once. What shall we call that grand day when you will bury and roll yourself in playmates and discarded housewives to boost your ego?" he asked and Sasuke's raised his eyes up to look back at him.

"They simply wanted a tip. I didn't sleep with them," he said through clenched teeth, his face showing anger.

"How unfortunate," he breathed out, feigning great disappointment. "But there is always next time."

Sasuke remained silent for a moment, and then he spoke as coldly as Itachi: "sometimes, you're so cruel to me over such small matters, Nii-Sama. I wonder if you take pleasure in this mockery, knowing that I can't say anything to you in return . . . " His face worked into an expression of bitterness and anguish, and then it was blank again.

"I told you last time, Sasuke," he stopped and moved closer, his face completely expressionless, "that I will not coddle you anymore—that I will change the way I behave with you. If only you had listened to me then."

The younger one, whose face was enveloped by the room's shadows, stared up with a firm smile on his lips. "You've always been this way after our parents' died—as long as I can remember. Maybe you should be colder as I don't see much of any change in your behavior."

Itachi narrowed his eyes. He had an urge to stroke Sasuke's head kindly, but he did not. "Go and take a bath. I want you in the garden before the hour is up. Obā-San will be here, and I do not want you shaming me in front of her, smelling like a common pig dragged out of a sty." He turned around and left the room without looking back at him.

When Sasuke stepped into the garden, a cold mist had settled itself upon the leaves and ground. Night advanced, and the horizon to the west was left wearing but a few shades of red over its dark cloth. His brother was standing silently by the old well. It had been in his family for several generations. When he was young, he asked his mother how old it was, and she told him that it was as old as Konoha.

He stopped next to him and turned his face away. Itachi was wearing his Anbu uniform. His arms were bare and his tattoo was bared for all to see. It was such a serious business. He could never understand why the Hokage asked him to bare it for certain missions: it was not like his stature was a secret to anyone.

Sasuke breathed in loudly, smelling the scent of purple lilies. They had burrowed their way out of the ground, and a few autumn moths fluttered above their mouths. It brought such an innocent smile on his face. He used to chase and catch them when he was young. It was child's play, and he had grown out of that phase a long time ago . . .

"I will be gone for a few weeks," Itachi spoke suddenly and Sasuke's smile vanished, "I may come by to visit a few times, but I cannot be certain of that."

Sasuke was silent. Wind bells clinked together at the gate in the breeze. It was silence again. He could hear the quiet sound of water rise up from the mouth of the well. He looked at his brother from the corner of his eyes. He was gazing up at the full moon, and his face looked so . . . expressionless, so white. It was as though he had not been in the sun for days.

"I hope you have a pleasant journey," he said in a subdued voice and looked ahead at the lilies again. The sudden puff of wind had swept the moths away from them. He saw them flutter to those lilies again—so relentless in their quest.

"I hope you will be on your best behavior when I am gone. Do not argue with Obā-San and do not say anything to her that might wound her feelings," he said, his eyes still fixed on the moon as if it mesmerized him, "you have a sharp tongue, Sasuke, but she is an old woman with a fragile heart. I do not wish to hear it from her that I failed to instill even this much respect in you. Do not quarrel with Izumi. She will stay in her guest-room. She will not worry you in any manner, and I do not want you to bother her without a reason. The sooner this ends, the sooner she leaves here."

Shock passed over Sasuke's face. "She won't be staying here?" he asked with a faint note of triumph in his voice—Itachi pretended that he did not hear it.

"No," he said and finally dragged his eyes away from the moon, only to settle them upon the ground by the aged walls, abloom in lilies, "I cannot manage two quarrelling children in my house."

A frown creased Sasuke's face at his remark, but that smile returned soon after. He bent his head down and pretended to be indifferent. "Obey Kai's rules and do not cross the boundaries I have set for you. Do not disappoint me, Sasuke," he said and turned his head a little to look at his younger brother: Sasuke's face was turned away from him, and he was looking at the wind chimes hanging on the door. A warm smile crept over Itachi's lips as he gazed at the pink hue that tinged his younger brother's cheek, slowly. It was cold outside, and he looked just like a child.

Sounds of steps and voices came to them, and Sasuke sharply turned his head to look at the gate with the curiosity of a child upon his face. A few moments passed and two servant girls appeared with Izumi and Rao. She was holding the old woman's hand. The look flew from his face when his eyes fell upon Izumi. That child-like expression changed to that of irritation, but he stayed quiet.

Izumi pressed her knuckle to her pink lips. Her cheeks were blushing from cold and happiness. She was wearing an expensive kimono, and her eyes were moving between the two brothers. Rao pulled her hand from her grasp and moved towards Itachi.

"You are already leaving?" she asked and took his warm hand in her cold one and brought it to her lips. She planted a few kisses on his white fingers with hungry fondness, love glinting in her old eyes like something new, powerful, warm.

"I am," he said with a smile, putting his hand upon hers, feeling her fingers tremble beneath his. "Sasuke, take her inside and show the servant girls where she will be staying." Sasuke did not protest. He went inside the manor with a reluctant Izumi and the servant girls.

"A little soon, is it not? How long will you be gone?" she asked and lowered herself down on the stair that led to the garden. He, too, sat down on one knee.

"A few weeks—possibly more," he said and turned his head slightly to gaze upon Serizawa standing at the gate.

"That long? I will miss you so," she said in a sepulchral tone and placed her hands on his cheeks with a defeated look in her eyes and face.

Itachi smiled in response, his cheeks becoming pink with cold. "I have asked Sasuke to behave himself. I hope you have instructed Izumi to do the same. If she starts something, he will not back down, and I will not be here to discipline him. I have faith that he will not do something rash, but he is still so young and young blood makes one do unthinkable things," he said, still smiling at her.

"Still making excuses for that wild child, are you?" she said with suppressed laughter and pinched his right cheek.

He was about to say something when Sasuke appeared with the maid from the manor. He looked really irritated. Itachi gestured the maid to take Rao inside, and he spoke kindly as she walked by him: "take care of yourself." She blinked once and warmly smiled in acknowledgment.

"Come with me, Sasuke," he said and started walking. He opened the gate and Sasuke walked behind him, with Serizawa walking a few steps behind. At last, he stopped by a naked tree that stood tall over the sacred rocks in the dry ground and turned around. It cast an eerie shadow upon them all. This time, his eyes were kind—in the white light of the moon.

"Come closer," Itachi said softly and Sasuke obeyed. He stepped closer and waited for him to say something cold to him again. The breeze was cool around him, and he desired to be inside the warm comfort of his own room, not out here.

A wisp of a smile came to Itachi's lips, and it stayed there this time. He put his hand on Sasuke's head and spoke the way he did when Sasuke was younger: "Sasuke, you are a good boy. Do not create any trouble whilst I am gone. If something happens, I will not be here to protect you. I know you are rash and quick to anger, but I will not ever wish for you to get hurt. Do not cause me any more distress."

With nervous fingers, Sasuke touched and rubbed the side of his neck as if something bit him there. He averted Itachi's gaze and looked away. Itachi brushed the hair from Sasuke's forehead and tapped it with his fingers. "I will see you soon," he said and left with Serizawa. A wind rushed at Sasuke from behind and he smiled, and his smile was not warm in this cold night . . .

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	47. A Terrible Secret

**Chapter Forty-Seven** : A Terrible Secret

 **Canon-Manga Info** : Uchiha Clan's Katon Jutsus (compressed ones like The Great Fireball and Dragon Heads) tend to easily tear up solid ground and break apart stone. It's a testament to their unrivalled, potent chakra. Madara's larger ones don't do that as they utilize uncompressed Chakra, as the databook states. The Sharingan is also fully capable of seeing in the darkness as it gives colour to chakra.

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She gazed up at the night sky, narrowed her grey eyes, shrank that vast field of stars. She raised one white hand and held it aloft and curled her fingers into a tight fist, thinking that she had just snatched a few of them out of the sky. Then she lowered her hand and stared down at that empty palm as she opened her fingers, slowly. It felt sad not to catch one, somehow . . .

Hinata turned her gaze to the manor: a sepulchral home unfriended by her heart a long time ago. It was cast in shadows of the night as it stood unmoving under the bare branches of tall trees. Their crooked shadows danced and swayed and moved over the stone-path, growing with such eagerness. Warm light poured out of the paper-screens, but she preferred to stand out here in the cold. It was easier that way.

Her thoughts did not let her find peace. She liked to stay in her own home now. It did not matter if Naruto never came or the difficulty of cold bothered her; it was for the best. Turning her head away from the manor, she watched the clouds move in from the north. A cool breeze touched her cheeks. Its chill told the tale of the coming winter. She touched the skin there tenderly with the tip of her fingers. It was so cold to her warm touch.

Naruto would turn twenty-five soon. Did it even matter to her anymore? She stole a quick glance at that heavy door and the wind chimes lightly spinning in the breeze. The sounds they made were so dull, almost mundane for her. She could see that silver bell shining in the faint light coming from inside. It was the same bell she had gifted Naruto almost five years ago.

A flash of anger came from inside her, but it faded too soon for it to even matter. Her pink lips turned white in cold. A sudden dryness came to her throat, and she swallowed. She really did not know anything about him. What did he like? It was always the same childish answer in the same boisterous tone: different flavours of ramen. She did not understand how anyone could enjoy the same thing every day. It would make it a routine affair—a boring affair.

Hinata remembered how she liked the sharp taste of spicy meatballs when she was a child. She grew out of it in her adulthood. Maybe he liked the scent and smell of something familiar, something that made him happy. She had asked Sasuke when he came to her in the dead of the night a day ago: what was that one thing that made him happy? He told her that the soft petals and the beautiful scent of purple lilies made him smile.

Her gaze automatically moved to the small corner of the manor empurpled with a few of them. There they stood still, untouched by the slow moving breeze—tiny immovable sentinels that resisted the mechanics of Nature. She could hardly see their magical purple glow in the shadows cast by the garden walls. They appeared so ordinary in the shade. She did not understand him, too.

Hinata breathed in deeply, closed her eyes, and felt the breeze trace the outlines of her calm face. She was trying to understand Sasuke. She really was; but it was so difficult to peel away his cold exterior to see anything warm waiting for her underneath. He came to her when he desired and went away just like that. She felt that she was something he chose to taste occasionally on his travels. She wanted more. It was not fair to be just an afterthought in his life.

Even those flowers mattered more to him than her. They made him smile. It was something she desperately wanted to see: a soft smile spread on his face and frighten away that unforgiving chill that always clung to him like a desperate lover. She put her hand upon her forehead and blinked in the wind. She was trying, but he made it so hard to get close to him: Itachi made it even harder.

He was a daemon to her, a sinister specter that stood behind Sasuke, always—a deep dark shadow cast by Sasuke's body. A look of angry disdain crossed her face, her eyes tracing the outlines of dark peaks below the black horizon far off into the distance. They were like dark coils of a serpent rising from the depths of the sea. He, too, was like that, a black stain upon Sasuke's purity, spreading and invading the pure landscape of his heart. His white spirit, still innocent and safe from the black smudges of the daemon's sins, probably shuddered at the corruption he so liked to imbue his soul with. It was that _one_ familiar feeling Sasuke did not want to let go.

Soon, he would become a ruined painting, wearing nothing but sad black shades upon itself forever. The dull noise of the wind-chime got swept away by the wind. She did not turn her eyes to look at the iridescent sheen on the metallic bell there. It was not enough to distract her. She found herself drowning in the black waters, getting stained by the black spots that fell upon her without warning from Itachi's blackened, cruel soul to infect her, shame her, belittle her. In his eyes, she was unworthy of his younger brother—a burden to drag him down to the depths of dishonour.

It was . . . impossible to win this battle against him. Hinata was a simple woman, and he, the most cunning and crafty man she had ever imagined. He wore more colours upon himself than the dead rotten leaves and flowers did in autumn; but they never died out of choice: it was a fate forced upon them by the unfeeling Nature, which was eternal. They wanted to be free of the cold death that awaited them in the harsh winds of winter. But why was Itachi like this—a stranger to the warmth that still lingered somewhere in his body? She really did not know.

Hinata's thoughts were beginning to spin and spin. It had become a whirlwind of passions for her small heart. Her hair was flying in the wind now, and she could not hear her own sigh when it slipped from her hurting lips. Their rosy hue was gone. She sat down close to the well. Its mouth was covered with thick wooden boards. It was about as old as Naruto. Kushina told her that they had dug it up when Naruto was still growing in her belly.

It whistled as the wind gusted through the small gaps between the loose boards. Its bottom was probably empty. There was a well in her home, too. It was older than she—older than her father even. She would not be surprised if it was as old as her Clan's first steps into Konoha. They came here so long ago. A mighty Clan it was. How it lost that honor and strength over the years.

She had heard stories of their bravery in war, men laying down their lives for Konoha. It was such an honour back in those days when wars were real. A heavy breath expanded her breast, and she exhaled wistfully. It was just like Sasuke had said . . . honor was all they had. Minato had little of that. The taint upon his soul was washed away with her life. The thought made her resent him so much. It was as like something upon her heart had possessed her fragile soul.

But Hinata was not like Sasuke. She was different. Her soul was like a hanging-scroll in a lonely alcove. Its silk edges, just barely touched by dust and ashes, had yet to bear the traces of time. The black ink had just barely painted something unique upon the scroll's surface. A few strokes here and a few strokes there, but it was so empty still.

She desired for something to fill its empty spaces with a bit of colour, a few flowers close to the edges to make her smile, too. How odd it felt to think this way? She lost her last train of thought with the bone-shattering noise of thunder. She turned her head when the heavy-door opened with a creak. A servant girl gestured her to come inside. Dinner was ready.

Dinner was quiet. They had little conversations about different little things. Minato and Kushina had argued enough about the heir yesterday. She was surprised that she did not have to defend herself tonight. Naruto was exasperated with them. He had so many cutting retorts to silence them. She felt . . . pity for his parents. A strange darkness of grief hovered over Minato's youthful face. He was still so handsome. His blue eyes had turned deep sapphire with sorrow.

Grief resided on Kushina's pretty face. She, too, had defied the touch of Nature, somehow. Her red hair looked redder in the dim light of the lantern. Hinata ate silently, stealing glances at both of them and looking at her aloof husband out of the corner of her eyes. He had a small frown in his brow. His jaws were stiff with anger. Angry words were just waiting to tumble out of his mouth. They did not look as though they wanted to draw his ire today.

Hinata was asked to lay with Naruto in his own room. It was that dreadful, private place where she had allowed him to take her virtue. Her eyes fell upon that futon, and she did not feel a thing. Were flowers really beautiful enough to make one smile? Was the taste of ramen so spicy, so different to experience a feeling of elation? Her lips began to shudder. It was that strong feeling of weakness again. She hid her face in the darkness of the warm room and walked to the window.

It was slightly open to let in the autumn breeze that blew from the hills. She closed it with trembling hands. The wind was colder on her skin today. Fire was crackling loudly in the sunken fireplace. Shadows were dancing everywhere, and she sat down on the futon and looked at the small cups sitting on a set of draws by the window. The moving shadows were round and large behind them. All three of them were of different sizes, and this was the first time she was noticing it . . . strange . . .

Naruto slid open the door and closed it with a sigh. She did not turn to look back at Naruto. He sat down on the futon and pulled at the yellowish kakebuton. He wanted to sleep. "You should get some sleep, Hinata. You have your final Chūnin trial tomorrow," he said and propped two makuras under his head and lay down on the bed.

"It's a bit cold," she said and turned her face to him. He had pulled the kakebuton over himself and was dozing off.

Naruto looked at her and shook away the sleep in his blue eyes to stare at the fireplace. It was warm. He looked back at her, smiling this time. "It should warm up the room in a couple of minutes," he said and pulled the kakebuton higher up. He went quiet again, and she heard him heave another sigh.

"I-I was thinking," she paused, biting her lower lip with a childish nervousness she always hated, "maybe we should help your father."

Turning his head, he looked deep into her eyes, a memory floated away from there like the sleep. A shade of emotion passed over his features. Then his face turned blank, almost rigid. "What do you mean?" he asked and propped his face in his hand, the pink skin of his cheek getting wrinkled in deep folds.

"He's your father, Naruto-Kun. He deserves more than your anger. I . . . I know it isn't my place to say this, but I want you to be his family. He's getting old—your parents are getting old. There is no need to resent them forever," she said and lowered her eyes. He was silent.

"You're kind, Hinata," he said with another sigh as though he was tired and weary and sat up straight. He bent his head down and scratched wisps of golden hair hanging down over his forehead. A wistful smile was beginning to appear on his face, driving that anger away.

Silence. All she could hear were the faint sounds of the breeze and fire. A sudden feeling of guilt and fear sent her heart to her throat. Hinata had said the words Sasuke had asked her to say. She raised her fingers and touched the lips tenderly as if she was stopping them from uttering lies, stopping the lips he had kissed from saying anything more. The room was getting warm, and a soft warmth was rising in her face and breast in answer. A pink hue returned to her lips that showed her shame, too.

"Maybe," she said and lost her voice for a moment, her heart beating loudly in protest, "if we had a few records that t-talk of that night, we might help your father—lift the blame off his shoulders. It doesn't feel right just to abandon him. He's your father, Naruto-Kun." She peered at him with wary eyes, like a naughty child, from behind the soft ringlet of black hair hanging from the fringe over her forehead. She would have to get them cut.

Naruto heaved in a painfully long sigh and blinked. His eyes stared at the window behind her. "I wish I could," he said after a long pause, "the records are sealed away in our old home. Only a pure-blooded Uzumaki can open them. My mother's put so many seals on 'em. They've been passed down in her family—private things, she always tells me." He forced out a humorless laugh and lay back down.

Noises from wind and fire kept coming. Silence fell down again, as solid as a thump of something heavy tumbling down to the floor, and she could hear her heart and blood beat again—beat loudly and wildly like something mad let loose in the forest. "Then nothing can be done?" Hinata asked and gritted her teeth as she turned her head away. She had gained nothing from coming here.

"I'll ask her again if it makes you happy, but I doubt she'll give me anything," Naruto said in a sad, small voice and turned to his right side, putting his hand under his cheek the way he did when he was a kid. "Good night, Hinata."

Hinata clamped her lips together, holding in that sob that was beginning to hurt her throat. She straightened her back and tilted her head back to look at the dark ceiling. Why did she even come here? Sasuke had said that she would gain something from here—a small glimmer of hope to keep Minato's schemes at bay, to keep her father's honour safe. He was just a liar . . .

She sat there in silence, looking at the rippling paper in the screen. If the wind picked up pace, the screen would not be able to bear it. It would be torn to shreds. She looked back and found Naruto sound asleep. The fire was still burning, and the room was warm. Her cheeks wore a rosy glow now. She grabbed the small bag that had a few scrolls in it and got to her feet. Maybe if she went there, she might find something.

It was so foolish to think this way. Sasuke had told her not to do anything silly, but it was all right. There was a trail that led to the old home from here: it was not that far from here. With that thought, she left the room and slid the door shut as gently as possible. When she stepped out into the corridor, she heard faint voices coming from his parents' room. She caught the word _'Hiashi'_ and curiosity stopped her from going over to the main door.

Hinata turned on her Byakugan. The big house was empty save for the lot of them. The servants were gone. She took slow and careful steps and moved into the shadows that lay close to the beam of light, coming out from a slightly ajar door. She sat down and dug through the bag to pull out a peculiar scroll. She spread it upon the wooden floor and made a few hand-seals and pressed her ear against the wood.

Silence, just silence; then soft, muffled voices came to her, and words began to appear on the scroll, too. "It is not easy to go against him," a heavy voice said. It was Minato's.

"But we cannot keep shielding him. Hiashi said he would find something, but he is silent. You were disgraced for someone else's crime. It is not fair to you, my dearest love," Kushina said so softly, and there was such anguish in her voice that Hinata had never heard before.

"Danzō made me a Hokage and Hiashi my advisor," he said and Hinata's eyes widened at the revelation. "You know it was always a bargain. The essence was placed under my care by him. Hiruzen did not desire it that way, but he was outvoted by us all. Danzō and Elders . . . they are fish of the same pond. They always had so much power. I never realized it in my youth."

He went silent and Hinata could hear nothing. She stared down and all of his words, as he said them, had appeared as fine blank ink on the scroll. It was used for confessions. It was troubling to sit in the darkness that way and listen to their private conversations. What had she become? But she had always been a curious one; so she twisted her back and pressed her breast and cheek against the wood, feeling the chill enter her body from there.

"Hiashi was a part of the bargain, too, was he not?" she asked and a jolt of curiosity, fear, and something else, ran down Hinata's young spine. "Why must you bear this burden alone? Talk to him—end this. Naruto will not back down. He is my son, and you are my husband. I cannot let this union tear us all apart." She drew in a sharp, sorrowful breath.

Kushina had fallen silent, too. It was like the echoes of her voice were travelling through the empty house, hitting her over and over again. The whole manor was bathed in black and white, and as she turned her eyes up to look at the garden, she saw rain dance like grey pearls upon the branches and leaves. It felt so cold . . . so forlorn and it wrenched fear out of her heart. What were they talking about? She eased that fear and breathed shallow breaths, listening.

"Danzō convinced Hiashi to hand over the Byakugans to the Squad," he said and Hinata's fragile heart tripped and stalled, tripped and stalled. "He was poor—he still is. It was always about money for his failing Clan. He clings to this union as his Clan is left with nothing. I pity him. Hyūga are not what they used to be. Honour is all they have and wealth is all I am left with. That was all I could give him."

A whistling sound of the wind came in through the gap underneath the front door, and the beam of light wavered. Her heart had gone numb. It was so shameful to hear such words from his lips, words of pity that stung her skin and made her heart writhe with a new ache: her poor father. He was just a victim of all this. Tears rose to her eyes, and she pulled away from the door. With trembling hands, she made the seals to stop the flow of ink. It was done.

"Worry not, my dearest. I shall speak to him myself. He needs to know that he cannot hope to win alone. He needs us, too," she spoke in a soft, reassuring voice this time. "Lay with me. Forget this for now. I have not felt your touch in so long."

Hinata raised herself to her feet and looked back to the see the light flicker and waver behind her. Tears were sitting in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut just to feel them burn her with shame. There was nothing left to do here. She breathed in a cool breath that made her tremble and left for her room silently, the scroll held tightly in her shaking hand . . .

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Rain and wind blew in across the desolate room and across his face. He turned his face a little to the left as the splash of water slid down his throat. It soaked through his shirt, and icy droplets trailed down in slow, crooked lines upon his shivering breast. That Anbu jacket was not proving to be so effective. It felt as if his skin was being stabbed with tiny pins. This would surely give him a fever . . .

He turned his eyes ever so slightly to look at Karin's flushed face. Water was dripping from her head, and she was shaking all over. Two of her fingers were pointed up—she was Sensing. He looked down the broken window of the ruined palace and watched as the Shitchi men fought with the bandits. It was a battle fought under the grey light of a kind sun and the cover of heavy rain.

Noises of grunts, screams, and breaking bones rose into the air, but the rain and angry thunder were stronger. The noises died too quickly for them to matter. Metal clashed against metal and spurts of blood flew out in various directions. They landed in the mud and got dissolved too soon. Then the colour disappeared. Their deaths would not even leave any marks on the ground.

Few arrows flew his way, and he casually deflected them with his katana. It was child's play. The room lurched and creaked slightly to the right. Karin let out a tiny yelp. This place would not hold their weight for long. They had to find their hideout and end this. She wiped at her mouth, her eyes open wide behind the glasses, and she began the task again.

He was still looking at the broken sign of the village moving back and forth in the wind. At last, its corner broke apart and it slammed down onto a big rock. It shattered into pieces there. The sound jarred his nerves, disturbing his peaceful thoughts. He had sent two missives to Sasuke, but he had not replied to even one of them.

He breathed out a long sigh, his warm breath lingering before his face like a ghost. The child was still angry. He smiled a small smile of amusement. It was Sasuke's right. He had been too unkind to him that day. He should have expected this wrath. Sasuke's anger always took long to die down. It was easy for it to rise. Like boiling water in a kettle it was, just bubbling to the brim, waiting to spill over with a small rise in that eager flame.

His eyes watched as more men spilt blood. It was war. He had taken this task for Sasuke—to keep him safe. He had anticipated Tsunade's eagerness to make a bargain: a life for a life. It did not matter. As long as he did not catch that foolish girl slipping, he could leave it alone. His thoughts went back to Sasuke's eyes. It was the same as before. What was Danzō planning to do this time? His thoughts were cut short by the creaking steps on the ruined wood.

It was Kikyo. She wore a very colourful kimono today and held a new fan before her thoughtfully painted face. He could tell that she was smiling. "Still have not found them, Itachi-Sama?" she asked in that same simpering voice, drawing the fan closer to her lips.

"You should move back. This room might fall down into the mud. The palace is so old. Even the roof is cracked," he said and looked up. Water was dripping down from the cracks. The room suddenly lurched a little again, and another loud cracking sound filled their ears. Serizawa let out a startled gasp, his face a little white.

"Sitting in the palanquin downstairs bores me. I just came here to look upon you," she said, her voice soft and seductive in the wind.

"A wayward shuriken or an arrow might kill you. You are not a shinobi. Having a powerful chakra in your head would not prepare you for the feel of such a cruel death," he said tonelessly and turned his eyes to look at the two masked men standing by the door. They wore wolf masks: their eyes and mouths were painted red.

A clever look glinted in Kikyo's eyes rimmed by lashes coated with a bit of mascara. She let out a soft laugh that rippled in his ear. "You are so cold and honest. Many women would find such honesty irksome," she said and drew closer, her gaze bent over the scar on his shoulder. "I wonder how you got this on your skin. The Sharingan reads all I have heard." There was such wonder in her eyes, and she pulled the fan back to look keenly at the thin line travelling under his black glove.

"It was a long time ago," he said and looked ahead at the rain falling down upon the last of men fighting for their lives. This outpost had become a scene of carnage. Severed arms and heads lay strewn about. The rain did not make the crows and vultures, sitting tight on the naked branches, afraid. Their wings were too wet for flight, but this was an easy meal for their hungry beaks.

"Does it crawl like something pesky all the way down your arm?" Kikyo asked with a little tilt of her head, appearing as curious as a little child. She moved her hand to touch it but pulled it back with a jerk as though she was being playful. "I would have requested of you to roll that glove down and show me, but it leaves so little to the imagination." She shielded her face from the rain with her hand. Her eyes were upon his face, and she parted her lips in an almost innocent grin filled with small, pearly-white teeth.

She was such a theatrical actress with the way she behaved. It was beginning to irk him. Another splash of cold water landed on his face and neck. His lashes dripped water into his eyes. He wiped his hand across his face, eyes, and mouth. He could feel his heart beat with a strange rhythm. His skin was getting a little warm. A fever? He had not slept in three days. Such a sudden, bone-chilling cold weather was difficult for his body to bear now. He just needed a little rest.

"Found them, Itachi-Sama. T-They are in the cave a little to the north behind a w-waterfall," Karin said, her teeth chattering with cold. Her cheeks were deep red, and she was dripping water everywhere on the floor.

Itachi created a crow and heard a gasp from Kikyo. It flew and sat down on Karin's shoulder. She stared at it with a fearful look on her face as if it was about to poke her eyes out. "Keep informing me," he said and stepped closer towards the balcony to jump down. Serizawa stood just behind it.

"I hope you are successful, Itachi-Sama. I wish you all the luck and good fortune in the world," Kikyo said and hid her mouth behind her hand, her eyes flashing boldly in the light. "It was so wonderful to stand by your side today. The skin on your throat and cheeks is so pink now. Is it fever? I thought you to be as cold as a marble for that. It looks so lovely, so real upon you." She bent her head down in a bow.

Itachi did not say anything. He turned around and jumped down, his ears catching the last dying wail from another bandit as he hit the ground. He rammed his sword into the rocks on the right to break his fall. It was a smooth landing. Serizawa landed behind him. Muted sounds from Karin's lips filled his ears. He could see her lips moving through his crow's eyes. There was a cave hidden behind the waterfall about four miles beyond this outpost.

Thirty men. Just thirty. He would end their lives, soak his hands in more blood today, and earn a bit of her favour. This had to end soon. He had to go back. Leaving Sasuke with Kai was not wise. He would outwit him with such ease. Itachi thought that he should smile that his brother was such a cunning Shinobi, but the older brother in him was angered at such a foolish thought. He was meant to protect him and his innocence. He had failed miserably over the years . . .

He turned around with a frown still forming on his wet brow and put that sword away in its sheath. Then he ran as fast as he could. He suddenly gained speed and Serizawa fell so far behind. His legs worked harder and harder and it widened the gap between them still more. The rain around him slowed down. It was soft on his cheeks. Rotting trees whooshed past with such speed that it turned into a single bold stroke of brown paint upon a canvas.

He jumped and landed smoothly on both feet and it propelled him into a faster run that he covered the last kilometer in a flash. It took him mere fifteen seconds to cover such a big distance. His heart was beating a little faster than usual. He really was very tired. He could have been a little quicker to shave a second or two off that time.

He waited for his heart to cool down and find that familiar pace. Sharingan pulsed in his eyes like a beating heart: red and hot and alive. He looked around and found nothing out of the ordinary. There was no well-trodden path that led to the cave. The bandits had been careful. A loud, gurgling sound permeated the air. He glanced up and found that the waterfall had turned muddy, and the small lake beneath it had swelled because of rains. Most of its water was still clear.

Serizawa came running. He had slowed down when he caught sight of his Sharingan. He was red in the face. "You are slow and half a minute too late," he said, turning around with a hard look of irritation in his face. "Work on your speed."

Serizawa bowed with a bit of shame. His cheeks had only grown redder. He watched Itachi take out his sword from the sheath and then flash to the pile of moss-covered stones that lay close to the mouth of the cave. He waited for Itachi to give him a signal. Itachi looked at the water with his Sharingan, and then he moved his sword through the water, cutting it in two. He flicked his head to indicate that Serizawa should proceed.

Serizawa took in a deep breath, smelling the salty smell of lake water. Sounds of rain and thunder and water were still so loud. It would give them a good cover. He made a few hand-seals and created a Futon tech to raise the water gently. Both of them stepped in through the parted curtain of water. The cave was damp. A heavy smell of rot went up their nostrils. It was a bit dark, but their Sharingans could see several men behind the rock.

One of them was a Sensor. Karin had already told him. Itachi smiled. They were so foolish. He pulled in a deep breath, kneaded that monstrous chakra, and spewed a large orb of flame out. Serizawa did the same. The flames tore through the rock and spread wide in the small area. Fire clawed at them, their supplies, and the oils dribbling from the lamps sitting in the gaps. They exploded and loud screams filled the space.

A wave of flame went up, curling along the roof and sweeping over their heads to the mouth of the cave. They heard sounds of steam from the waterfall and closed their lips and stopped the flow of chakra. Water was dripping in streamlets the roof of the cave. It put out any flames left on the dead bodies: they had burnt to death.

Itachi looked around and felt an uneasy feeling settle firmly in his heart. Something did not seem right. There were no weapons' supplies anywhere. It looked like a hiding place.

"Itachi-Sama," Serizawa spoke in a fearful voice as he sat down. He brushed the ashes aside and grabbed a slightly melted headband from the forehead of a dead Shinobi that lay by his feet. The heat had contorted its smooth shape.

Itachi took it from his hand. His long fingers wiped away the smudges of soot and ash from the metallic surface. Shock came to his face, and he looked around at the bodies that littered the cave. Their faces and muscles were crumbling away in ashes. Smoke rose from them and curled in thin wreaths in the cold air.

"Cloud . . . " Itachi whispered, and then shock gave way to cold anger, and his Shurikens began to spin and spin with violence in his eyes. His face contorted, and he could barely control himself. These ninjas were from Cloud village . . .

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 **EN** : Here's the etymology of two words that are of great importance in this work:

 **Soul** : From Anglo Saxon sāwol; from Dutch ziel and Gothic saiwala. For figurative senses and collocation with body, life; as applied to individual (good soul, not a living soul, every soul on board) perhaps due to ecclesiastical; a character of medieval administration.

 **Spirit** : Latin spiritus, from spirare, to breathe, used in Vulgate for sense-development. Partly also via Old French esperit, espirit (esprit). Replaced, in certain senses, native soul, ghost, but was not generally adopted by the other Teutonic languages. In reference to temperament from medieval science that believed in three "spirits" or "subtle fluids" pervading the individual, as it did in four "humours". Alcohol sense (c. 1600) from earlier use by the alchemists, who recognized four, videlicet quicksilver, orpiment, sal, ammoniac and brimstone ; similar use of German geist: To spirit away, abduct, was originally used (17 century) of kidnapping boys for the Wind, plantations, as though they had been supernaturally removed. Littleton has plagiarius, "a spirit, who steals other mens children or servants". Spiritualism, in table-rapping sense, appears 1855. Spirituel (French) has developed also the special sense of esprit, wit, intellect.

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	48. Terror in a Dream

**Chapter Forty-Eight** : Terror in a Dream

 **AN** : I've been working on pieces of ' **Dream-Landscape'** more and more in **Vehemence**. They're very important and find their way into real-world mood descriptions, as well. Pay close attention to them.

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She stood in the soft light of the sun, pouring in through the paper-screen in the window on the right. It was a single beam, big and long. Shadows lay deep-blue like scroll-ink behind the large cupboard that stood towering over the small desk before it. An open scroll was lying across the surface; a wooden pen left on the scroll moved a little as the breeze moved past it—such a quiet piece of tranquility.

There were so many scrolls arranged to create a neat pile in each shelve. She narrowed her eyes and breathed in the cool air in the room. The brazier and the fireplace were cold. There was fresh coal there, but it was not lit. She could see a little mist leak into the room through the gap under the door that led to the small garden. It was still so early in the morning.

She moved her eyes around and found more shelves in the walls. There were so many books and scrolls arranged in the shelves. Moving her eyes over them, she let go of the door-frame and walked in. A moist mist in the room tickled her cheeks. It was so cold in here. The servants had left it alone in his absence. This was a library.

She stopped by the one with a large blue book and touched it with the tips of her fingers, stealing glances at the low-table like he actually sat beside it, and she would receive a reprimand for being a naughty little girl. She smiled, lost in her own thoughts. That was when she heard creaks of footsteps on the wooden floor. She turned around, pushed the book back in, and her eyes fell upon Sasuke's face. He stood in the door frame, dressed in his office uniform, and he looked irritated.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked, his cheeks a little redder than usual. She could tell it was not just the cold doing that to his skin.

"I was just . . . " she paused to draw in the air that felt colder than before, " . . . looking around. I've never been to this part of the manor."

He pushed the sword into the sheath on his back and stared at her in a most unfriendly manner. "This is Nii-Sama's library, Izumi. You can't go anywhere you please. You have no business here," he said in a rough voice and did not look any less cold.

Izumi let out a small sigh of exasperation. He never liked her when she came by with her family to visit. When he was a little boy, he snatched the letters she wrote to Itachi from her hand and threw them into the pond. It would ruin the ink and her mood. She always intended to leave them under Itachi's makura or slip them under the door. She never got the chance to tell him how she truly felt.

Now, standing here, looking at him was evoking so many of her memories. Izumi did not think he had ever grown up: he was still the same selfish little boy who wanted his brother's undivided attention, and Itachi _always_ coddled him. He let Sasuke hide behind him when he would come running into the room, chased by her to punish him because he threw her letters away.

Itachi would never listen. She remembered how a frown would rise to his calm face, barely disturbing his features, when she would plead before him to punish him for being so mean to her. He would tell her that it was unbecoming of a girl of her age to be so angry with a boy so small, that boys were used to mischief. And Sasuke would look at her from behind his back, the top of his head barely coming up to Itachi's neck, little white hands curled around his brother's arm, eyes sparkling and peering over his shoulder, his mouth smiling that he had won. He was a small and impish one.

Izumi never really liked him. He stole her letters, and Itachi never looked her way when he was around. She felt as though Sasuke did it on purpose. Whenever she got a chance to talk to him in his office, it would not take long for Sasuke to come running with a big smile on his face. He would collide into him and hug his arm; and then he would tell Itachi, with such innocent excitement, what he did at the academy, dragging Itachi's bag over to pull his things out to play by his side. Izumi was simply forgotten; Itachi never stopped him and it infuriated her.

Her heart was beating faster under his hard gaze. She looked up again, seeing the same selfish small boy in his face. That same look of triumph glinted in his playful eyes, and a curl of indifference was in his smile. He was still the same—he had not changed at all. But had Itachi changed, even just a little? She did not know, but she would tell him this time that she loved him and Sasuke would not stop her.

"Itachi-Sama told—"

"Nii-Sama said that you can stay in your room. He gave you no permission to do as you wish," he cut her off. A little smile came to his lips, and then it faded again. In the light of the sun, his face looked hard as a stone, broken just a little by that naughty smile to give an illusion of softness. He was just a mischievous boy in a man's body.

"Sasuke, you don't have to hate me so much," she said and lowered her eyes to look at her cold feet peeking out from under the kimono. "I just came here to look for a book. There isn't much to do in this manor. Itachi-Sama's away, and you don't sit with me, either. It gets lonely for two women living in a guestroom."

"Leave," he said in a cool voice and walked towards the shelf in back of the desk. The light from the window was blocked by his body now, and it cast a shadow upon her and her heart. A slow kind of anger came over her, and she did not like the way he commanded her.

"Itachi-Sama wouldn't like that that you are snooping around in his library, too. Why are you here?" she asked childishly, the colour in her cheeks growing deeper.

He turned his head to look back at her eyes, which were seething with anger, and threw her a playful smile that was as mean as ever. "Because I'm his brother, and this is _my_ house," he said, stressing on the word _'my'_ and gave her a fake innocent look.

"Oh, you're such a disrespectful imp, Sasuke. I'll tell your brother that you quarreled with me," Izumi said heatedly and stormed out of the library.

"Let's see where that takes you," he said from behind her, and his tone was one of childish triumph.

She did not stop till she reached the guestroom. She slid open and closed the door with such force that it gave the old woman sitting beside the fire a start.

Rao put her hand to her bosom and blinked rapidly. Her eyes were not as good as they used to be. "What's the matter, Izumi?" she asked in the same rough, old voice, her eyes upon Izumi's pinkish cheeks as she flopped down on the futon in a huff.

Izumi's cheeks were so red now, and she had a deep frown in her forehead. She pulled at the pins in her hair and threw them on the futon in anger. "Nothing," she said sternly and turned her face away.

Rao smiled. She closed the book she had in her hand. She had asked Sasuke last night to get her a few from Itachi's library. Though, still bright and clever, she was bent by age. She could not see the colours and words that clearly. Everything was a little hazy to her aged eyes. These books had special chakra ink in them that made everything look bright and clear.

"Did Sasuke say something to you?" Rao asked and put the book aside. She brought her hands together and rubbed them briskly.

Izumi looked at the door and listened to the groans of the floor as Sasuke walked in the corridor outside. She heard him open and close the large door, feeling a draft of air rush into the room that made the flames flicker.

At last, she looked back at Rao, frowning. "I'll tell Itachi-Sama that Sasuke was hurtful to me again," she said, taking deep breaths. "He told me to leave the library. He _commanded_ me to leave the library. He's so rude."

Rao pressed her fingers to her lips and laughed. The tinkle of her merry laughter rang in Izumi's ears and anger slowly faded from her fair face. Her mouth turned down a little, and she lowered her eyes and looked at the bracelet on her wrist. She felt the coolness of metal on her skin. The room suddenly began to feel a little colder. The fire in the fireplace needed more coal.

"Come here, my dear," Rao said and lightly tapped her hand on the cushion beside her. Izumi looked at her, and then made her way around the fireplace. She sat down and adjusted her kimono carefully. She felt Rao's hand on her head and then on the side of her cheek.

She spoke again, and this time, more softly than before: "he will need time to accept someone else in his house—someone in Itachi's life. It has been just the two of them for so long. Have a little patience."

Izumi raised her soft eyes to meet hers. There was a glint of such warmth in their depths. Rao always talked so fondly of Itachi. "But, Sasuke, he—he makes things so difficult. He—" Izumi stopped and mashed her lips together. Then she sniffed a few times and blinked as though she was trying to hold back the tears.

Rao smiled, and it was such a sweet and warm smile. "Sasuke isn't that difficult to understand," she said and stroked her head as she gazed into her questioning eyes. "If you want to win Itachi's heart, be kind to Sasuke—overlook his little mistakes. Itachi loves him so. He's all that he has. Don't be so hasty and try to think that you'll be able to lessen Sasuke's value in Itachi's eyes by telling him of his boyish anger and innocent faults."

"But, Rao-Sama, I didn't mean—"

"It's all right, Izumi," she said her name tenderly, taking her face in her hands, "it is all right to be selfish. There's no harm in desiring someone for oneself, but Sasuke's so precious to him. He treats him like a child, because he considers him one. He's been his parent since he was but a fourteen-year-old boy himself. He let that mere child get away with so many things, because he knew he had no one left to love him."

Rao lowered her gaze and then slightly turned it to the right. The guttering flames were going out. It was getting so cold in the room now. The sun was bright, but she knew that the clouds would cast a shadow over this manor soon; then a cold rain would not be that far behind. She pulled her hands away and looked down towards the fire. She heaved a sigh—lost in thought.

"Treat Sasuke will love. Give him more value. Then, perhaps, Itachi might start appreciating your love, too," she said in an anguished voice, smiling. "He's become so cold over the years. It would be . . . difficult for you to find a small place in his heart. Sage knows what lies there now. He's no less cold towards Sasuke even, but his love for him overcomes that deep cold inside him. I hope you find happiness with him—I really hope." Then she looked at her, and she was smiling a warm smile and Izumi could not help but feel a shiver in her heart. Itachi was . . . too cold?

Clouds were spreading wide. The sky was dark. A feeling of gloom descended on them. The wind was still soft and calm, but with a single clap of lighting, rain came pouring down. It was colder than usual. Winter was coming. He looked up and passed his hand over his face several times, groaning.

"I hate these rains," Sasuke said and leant back against the tree. Water was still dripping from the branches above, but it was bearable.

"Imagine how I feel," Suigetsu said and adjusted the cowl on his head. "I feel like I might get swept away by water. Hold me, Sasuke." He faked a gloomy face and stepped closer to him so that the crow could not see his face now.

"Yor brother's nasty crow's as persistent as ever," he said with a smile, tilting his head slightly to peer through Sasuke's messy, wet hair to see that it was still sitting there. It was twisting its head around and sat way up in the tree on the far right. It really behaved like a real bird. It made him shiver, and he chuckled in amusement. "Ya said it would disappear, but it's still here. Losin' yor touch, are ya? Bet it can even hear my silent, windy farts. Life's so unfair."

"It can't hear us," he said and closed his eyes as if he was tired, "but it can see the movement of our lips. As long as you don't flap your gums carelessly, it wouldn't see anything. It'll disappear in a week. Have patience."

"Deaf!" he said with a gasp, and his brows rose up distinctively high, " . . . so weird, yor brother. Why did ya send that stutterin' wife to do a fetch quest for ya? That scroll would do us no good ta find what we want. I can't believe ya actually thought she might get somethin' for us." He twisted his lips in irritation and spat water out of his mouth.

"Of course not," he said, frowning. "I'm really surprised we even got this lucky about Minato's past. I just needed to know where the scrolls are stored."

"Ya couldn't have asked Naruto 'bout 'em?" he asked and put his hand on his hip and adjusted his hood thoughtlessly again.

"No, Naruto would've been suspicious of my sudden interest in his father. It was better this way," he said and started walking to the east.

"I hope ya know what yor doin'," he said and hurried forward to match his stride. "The bandits are cooped up in the cave close ta that outpost. Konoha ninjas aren't very bright, if ya ask me. I've been sendin' my masked clone ta them regularly. They're gettin' impatient." He breathed out loudly and shoved his hands into the coat's pockets. It had gotten too cold.

They walked silently and said nothing, listening to the dissonant sounds of the gentle rain and the tinkle of drops as they fell from the branches—left nearly bare by autumn's mercy. The sparse leaves left on them would, too, die in winter. This was their fate. So they shushed, caressed by the cold breeze as if protesting their coming deaths.

Big drops of rain coursed down with haste on Sasuke's face. He moved his hand again to wipe them away. His white skin was almost pink in every visible area on his face and neck, except his nose: it was red. He slightly turned his eyes up to look at the flash of lightning. It did not take long for thunder to come at them with haste. It brightened the sky and left an afterimage in his eyes.

"Well, I hope you gave them the money to keep their mouths shut and stay put," he said gratingly and cleared his throat. "I wouldn't have even resorted to this had there been another option, but with Nii-Sama handling them with Kikyo, this was the only way."

"Ya think he'll figure this out?" he asked and ducked under the crooked branches, adjusting his cowl again. He wriggled his ears and listened to the faint flap of the crow's wings; the evil-bird was still in pursuit.

"The bandit problem had gotten out of hand. With Konoha involved to kill their men," he paused and let out a soft chuckle, "there's always a chance of retaliation, especially now that Tsunade has sought out Okami Clan to aid them—these thugs. Besides, that's one of our biggest outposts. If it's attacked, it'll cause mayhem here. Everyone will be assigned to protect Konoha's borders and the forests. That'll be our chance—our _only_ chance. Hope you haven't been neglecting your duties." He sniffed loudly and took in a great breath, letting out a shaky one afterwards.

Suigetsu's smile turned into a laugh. He closed his eyes and continued to laugh a loud mischievous laugh. "Don't worry yor pretty lil' head," he said and he still sounded so amused. "I've been meetin' Torune close ta Rain's borders, givin' 'im those useless scrolls like ya told me. He thinks my imaginary men are on ta somethin'. The guy ain't bright, I tell ya." He smiled and started running immediately in Sasuke's wake.

"And the Root men?" he asked and stopped for a split second to leap up to a thick tree branch some fifty feet above him. Suigetsu followed. His water-repellent coat was noisy in the rain, and its wet tails streamed behind him.

"Yor clone's as mean as you—such a bully! It barks orders at me every day. Some things never change," he said and his mouth pulled into a mean grin, his white teeth sparkling in the beams of sunlight. "The masks are good, and I carry soldier pills with me every day. The clones won't go poof, don't ya worry. Torune treats us the same. Well, it helps as the Root bastards hardly ever talk—bunch a mute faggits!

"Was it even necessary ta kill both of 'em? It could get messy, Sasuke. When it all goes down, we're talkin' three dead sons a bitches here. Just thinkin' about yor brother makes my wet balls grow tighter . . . and not because I'm horny. We're gonna be in deep shit, I'm tellin' ya."

Sasuke took a huge leap towards a tree beyond the stream and landed smoothly on the branch. Suigetsu followed. Wind was too cold in their faces; rain had thinned to a pleasant drizzle, but each drop was a little needle on their skins. Lightning and thunder came in succession again. The branches beneath their feet shook, losing more leaves that were barely hanging onto them with the last bits of their strength.

Sasuke jumped across two more trees, and at last, he spoke in a grave voice: "it was necessary. Those men were involved in funding rebels in Rain against other villages. Typical Konoha." His face suddenly grew stern as it came under the sharp morning light. The clouds were breaking. "No one knew about Rain more than them. They were also Torune's guards, and the only ones in contact with the middleman. There was no other way."

"If ya say so," he said and looked down to see the water falling down on the leaves lying rotten on the ground.

Sasuke twisted around in midair and looked him in the eye and there was a spark of childish wonder in the reds there. It reminded Suigetsu of the time when Sasuke used to play with him in the forest. One was the bandit and other, the relentless chaser. Sasuke always chose to be the bandit. He did not understand it then, but he did now—he was just a mischievous child. His games had grown sinister, but the boy in him chose them to satisfy his heart, unwary of the distinct malignancy that loomed behind them.

"Try to keep up—we're already a little late," he said mischievously and Suigetsu's face mimicked the grin that split his face so perfectly. Sasuke's hand shot out to grab the branch as he fell back. He flipped in midair and landed smoothly on the ground and ran off into the trees with immense speed, and when Suigetsu blinked once, he could see him no more.

Suigetsu shook his head and let out a throaty chuckle. He looked up to see that the crow was flying after Sasuke. He adjusted his coat and landed into the mud and ran after him. It took him a couple of seconds to reach the meeting place. It was a small clearing by a stream. Water flowed well there and the naked trees were filled with straw-nests. Few were destroyed by the winds. All that was left hanging there, in the trees, were wisps of wet straws. He saw a few chicks lying on the shallow bottom; they had drowned.

Sasuke looked over to him as he approached the stream. He stood next to Kai and was talking to him about their mission in the forest to the south. The crow was sitting on the branches above his head. Its neck was bent down, and it let out a nasty caw when Sasuke looked up to stare at its red eyes. Suigetsu met Hinata's eyes and could not help but lower his face to smile at her foolishness to chase Sasuke. She was pink in the face and looked as shy and enamoured as ever. There was a little unmistakable boldness in her eyes that he had not seen before. Sasuke had moulded her well into his perfect little puppet.

Suddenly, Sasuke moved away from Kai and sat down by a stream; then, almost without a thought, he scooped one chick out of the water. Its skin was wrinkled beyond belief, and he stared with an unknowable grief in his breast as a grey film appeared over its eyes and it went completely still. It, too, had died . . . and Suigetsu looked on, not understanding Sasuke's interest in such a small death . . .

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Winds and rains were more merciless here. Everything lit up with sharp glares over and over again and the room shook. The vibrations moved up his feet and arms, all the way to his heart and eyes. He walked with firm, arrogant steps to the room. The double door was open, and there she sat, appearing like a kabuki actress sitting behind the two sunken fireplaces.

He stepped through the door and stopped short of the fireplaces. Light flashed into the room, lighting his hard face in the darkness for just a moment, his eyes as red as two ambers in the brazier. "Leave, all of you. I need to speak to this girl," he said so coldly that a shiver ran through the whole room.

The masked men looked at their mistress, and she nodded silently. They left the room with quick steps and closed the door behind them. Suddenly, it was so quiet, but thunder was quick to remedy that. It shattered the momentary calm without any kindness, and their ears were left ringing with the unpleasant noise it created.

He narrowed his eyes to slits and had a frosty look on his face. His red eyes saw so clearly in the dark: the soft powered face, eyes set alight by a bit of red makeup, flickering look of cunning that he was beginning to loathe so much. There was a bit of greed in the corner of her painted mouth, and it made his heart shiver with such anger that he had not even thought possible.

"Back so soon, Itachi-Sama? You look so red and so wet. I think the cold journey was not so easy," she said and her voice unnaturally boomed in the large room. The partition screens behind her looked so bright and yellow in the light of the fire.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, breathing out a warm white breath through his teeth. Water was still dripping from his clothes, face, and hair, but they were slowly drying out in the heat.

Kikyo emitted a sweet girly laugh, picked herself off the cushion, and rose to her feet as daintily as possible. She inched by the edges of the fireplace, drawing her kimono away from the flames with her hand. She stopped a few feet short of him, staring at his face with such rapt attention as though she was about to receive a bit of heavenly revelation.

"Whatever do you mean? We agreed to take care of bandits. Isn't that what you did?" she asked in such a fake, simpering tone as if she were dealing with an inept little boy, and it angered him.

A look of cunning came into his spectral red eyes and face that was a little pink with cold about the cheeks; it gave his wan face an air of such sinister contempt that, for a moment, she could not help but feel fear overpower her womanly heart, make it shudder.

His mouth twisted up very slightly in what he must have thought to be a smile, but he did not look any less fearsome and dangerous. "A silly child like you may be used to playing small, childish games in the marsh, but this is so dangerous for someone so young and girlish. So I will ask you again, what is the meaning of this? I hope you choose your words as wisely as you always pretend to," he said, his voice firm, unwavering, threatening.

She looked a little shocked by his honesty. Then, slowly, a smile came upon her soft lips, and her face seemed to change—it became harder and colder—though she could not manage to work her features with the same perfection as he did.

"You may be so beautiful, but you are as cold as stones in our temple," she said lowly, and her eyes became hard black stones on her face."Forgive my honesty, Itachi-Sama, but I had to say what was in my heart." And she pressed her fingers delicately to her bosom as though she was seducing him. He did not seem moved—his countenance was still as hard as ever.

When no words came from him, she spoke: "I didn't do this to create trouble for you. Believe my words. Cloud has grown . . . impatient. We've collected so many of their Jutsu-scrolls for them, and I've grown weary of it. The treaty between Konoha and the foolish Raikage gave me a moment to reconsider the choices of my father. They've been sending in men to reduce our numbers in the mountains. Military expansions as they call it. I believe otherwise."

Itachi was still silent. No words fell from his lips, and she continued after the shattering voice of shattering thunder passed into a peaceful silence: "they're oppressing us to aid them in their war against Mist. It's only inevitable. I simply want to slip out. Is that so hard for you to imagine?"

"You used me to kill the men sent in for investigation of your activities in the mountains. You stole their scrolls and killed their men one after another. An emissary named Kuma was attacked by a group of thugs against his establishment. He was on his way to Konoha some moons past. Someone paid those men. They had no headbands on them. The bandits do. They consider themselves an army of the free lands, but they are no thugs. They simply desire freedom from the constraints of the Villages. But you," he paused, appearing cold and cruel, "you did all this to drive me into a corner. Do you think I am some fool?" His red eyes widened, and she felt skewered to the ground like a hunted, wounded animal that awaited a merciful death at his hands.

Suddenly, his shadow looked so sinister and evil in the dark, and she gulped, her fair face breaking out in sweat. She heaved in a deep and unsteady breath and stood straight. "Not all stories are true, Itachi-Sama. I'm more interested in—"

"I am not even slightly interested in lending my ears to your foolish yarns," he said, his voice cool like the winter's wind, almost hissing from his mouth; and he drew closer, dragging that aura of danger with him. "You want to threaten me with the possibility of an end to this treaty. Cloud might find out what happened to their men. Who knows what kind of silly clues you have left in those rat-holes up in the mountains for them to find. Tell me something, are you so eager to meet your end by my hand?"

Fear flashed in her young eyes, but she quickly controlled it and met his gaze with a challenge. "Are you so eager to kill me? Are you so eager to miss your chance to gain something? I thought you were so clever?" she asked and smiled that infectious womanly smile of hers.

"I could just kill you right now along with your clumsy army and burn this place up with little remorse. Your tale will end with your lovely theatrics, and no whisper will reach any ear to know of your foolish schemes," he broke off to breathe in, and his smile widened, "but, I wonder, what do I hope to gain from this child's play? Nothing at all. What truly matters here is what you want from this mess. What _do_ you desire?" He tilted his head a little and gazed down to see the skin on her bosom trembling in cold fear. She was afraid.

"You," she whispered softly and came near him, and the seductive look in her face became more intense with a new fire, "I desire you to make an alliance with me. I have something that might interest you—a scroll about a terrible secret that concerns you so intimately. You can choose to kill me and earn the wrath of Cloud. They will never suspect us. They will suspect you and your men. An Anbu leader involved in such an upheaval . . . the scandal will ruin you. But you can end it all by accepting me. The choice is yours, Itachi-Sama."

Itachi bent his head, and the chill in his eyes made her flinch. The smile faded from her pretty face little by little, but she forced herself to keep up the act. "You are just a foolish child playing with dolls and beautiful things. You are not as clever as you pretend to be . . . and that will be the end of you," he said in an uncaring voice and turned around and walked away from her.

He grasped the handles of the door, and she spoke in a manner that gave her voice an alluring tone: "I hope you reconsider my offer, Itachi-Sama. You look so lovely with a little colour on your skin. Let no one dye that throat red. That would be so unfortunate."

He did not stop and left the room in silence, closing the doors behind him.

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It was so bright. No matter where he looked, it was just an endless shade of white: there was no colour in the space around him. He turned his Sharingan on and it failed him, too. Then he looked down, and the small body standing by his feet was filled with such a wonderful and strong colour. He could sense each beat of the young heart move the blood through that tiny body. It coursed through the veins that had yet to gain the heat of youth. It was young. Innocent. Pure. Free of the touch of life . . .

His clever eyes saw that pure heart throb and send blood moving through the whole form, and it quivered with the warmth of a new life. The small body was a little vessel, a little piece of himself: the scent of that chakra, its colour, and its soft feeling were so familiar that he sat down crossed-legged and gazed upon the soft face of a small child, with a warm smile on his lips . . . Sasuke.

"Sasuke," Itachi spoke, and his voice echoed a little in the empty, forlorn space, "are you still angry with me?" Itachi grabbed the child's wrists with care, and he lowered his eyes in a manner as if he did not want to look back at him.

"No," Sasuke replied, his voice small, soft, mellow. He looked no older than four. His face was so baby-like; his cheeks were soft and big; his mouth was small and red. There was a rosy blush rising to his cheeks, and he kept raising and lowering his eyes; he wanted to say something.

"Then tell me, what bothers you? I will listen," Itachi said and pulled away one hand to brush his fingers across Sasuke's small forehead.

Sasuke twisted his mouth and bit his lower lip and such sadness came into his eyes. "Nii-San, it hurts," he said and his soft mouth began to tremble and his big eyes grew red with tears. They trickled down his round cheeks and his small breast panted and deep emotions worked his delicate features that he looked in great pain—lost.

A look of concern and fear came across Itachi's eyes. Sasuke was crying so bitterly now, and he did not know what to do. "Where does it hurt, tell me? Where here does it hurt you?" he asked, a note of an odd kind of panic hidden in his deep voice.

Sasuke pressed his small plump hand to his breast and hiccupped, his face warping in pain. "Here, Nii-San. It h-hurts here—" he said, as hiccupping sobs shook that small body as though he was spasming, and tapped his hand where his heart was.

"Your heart?" he asked and focused his Sharingan on that tiny thing beating in his breast. His heart was red and alive, thundering with emotions and strength and vigour children possessed in abundance. He could not see what was wrong with it. "Sasuke, it is fine. Do not be afraid. I am here," he assured him, but the child would not stop weeping.

"But . . . but it hurts," Sasuke spoke, and his voice grew rough, raspy in a way that he sounded older than his years; Itachi saw his form grow, his body elongate, his muscles ripple; and Itachi felt the curl of his fingers around that wrist get tighter. And then, Nature cast Sasuke's white face in such a fine, beautiful mould. His features grew and matured into their perfect, accurate contours in a manner that was so familiar to his eyes, leaving the soft lines of that child behind. Green veins, innocent before, flickered with a new heat under his skin. His blood was hot with the touch of youth, and as the musk of his male scent went up Itachi's nostrils, he knew he was no longer a child, but a man. Sasuke had grown right before his eyes, and he felt as though he hardly ever noticed it over the years, and it saddened him . . .

Sasuke was still looking down, sitting cross-legged before him now. He saw that heart beat inside him. It was a different heart, a new heart—a heart corrupted with the stains of natural youth; but his spirit, a white wisp flickering before the shadow in the deep reaches of his heart, was still so pure. If Itachi could just save it, keep it shielded from the smear of this world, he would be so happy.

"It hurts, Nii-Sama," Sasuke spoke again in that rough, young voice, his eyes still lowered to the wrist Itachi still held firmly in his hand, "it aches."

Itachi did not understand him. So many words sat upon his tongue like the fleeting taste of spices, but he could not speak. He watched as Sasuke slowly raised himself to his feet, and he lost his grip and stared up, almost mesmerized by the hollowness of Sasuke's eyes; and Itachi realized it then: it was fear. Itachi was afraid. His heart would not let him admit it, but he knew—he just knew. The slow, vibrating feel of it covered his heart like a black shroud. He did not know when he stood up, looking at his brother's face that was almost as white as the world around him. And it did not feel right. He was losing his colour—it was not right.

"It aches and it hurts," he said shakily and winced, "let me show you. Would you see?" And he was looking at him odd, and Itachi was speechless.

Sasuke fisted a piece of his black shirt and ripped it away. Itachi's eyes fell upon his heart leaping under his ribs. "You would see wouldn't you, Nii-Sama—wouldn't you?" he asked in a child-like manner, the way he did when he was but a small boy, and the sound passed into distance and was gone. Sasuke was emotionless; then he brought his hand up, contorted his fingers into a claw, and started pushing it into his breast. Itachi saw blood ooze from where his fingers were breaking his skin, digging in further. Little by little. Inch by inch. He heard the sound of the bones crack and break, and blood flowed down his breast in streams.

Itachi stood stock-still, his eyes growing wider; then he finally opened his mouth to suck in the air and found his lost voice. "Sasuke, what are you doing? Stop," he said in a loud, unfamiliar voice, and his hand shot forward to grab Sasuke's wrist to stop him from wounding himself.

But Sasuke was silent. His eyes were just staring at him. His hand was going in further and further. Itachi curled his fingers cruelly around that wrist, enough to bruise and injure Sasuke's skin, and yanked at it with all the strength he could muster; but Sasuke's determined hand would not move back. The fingers were still moving forward, and Itachi found himself panting with exertion. Sasuke was not budging.

"Let me show you. You would see where it hurts. You would see—" he spoke again, and his voice and face were still so emotionless; and his countenance was wounding Itachi's heart so . . . horrifically.

"Stop!" Itachi finally shouted, and it did not feel and sound like him, at all. He pulled and pulled, but Sasuke's hand kept moving forward and forward—it had a mind of its own. He was a stone statue, and Itachi did not have the strength in him to move him, stop him. Blood sprayed upon his hand and arm as if his precious little brother was experiencing the death of a martyr. He could not look away as the large bone in the middle snapped, and Sasuke curled that red and cruel hand around that thing, still beating in his breast, and pulled it out.

Veins and arteries elongated like elastic bands and ripped away from the heart as he dragged it out, and a large spray of blood streaked across Itachi's face. Blood went into his eyes, and the whole white world was bathed in red. His breaths were gone, his mouth open, and then he tasted the metallic flavour of his brother's blood on his tongue.

At last, Itachi heard his own heart beat once, then twice, and he inhaled the stone-cold air in short shivering breaths. He felt something warm and briny come out of his eyes, and droplets fell upon the heart Sasuke held in his hand. It was growing so black. Thick black goo was pouring out of it. It was dying.

"See, Nii-Sama? It was hurting. It was aching in me," Sasuke said, and his skin grew more and more pale that Itachi could barely make out his features in the whiteness of this world.

"Sasuke," Itachi spoke in such a shaky voice that he did not know he even possessed and grabbed Sasuke's hand and directed it to the gaping wound in his breast, "put it back in. Put it back in—don't disobey your brother. You're a good boy, aren't you? You're . . . "

Sasuke slumped down onto his knees in exhaustion, and the slowly beating heart fell out of his hand and hit the ground in a splatter of black and red. He went completely still, his skin growing hard like a stone. He was not moving. He was not breathing. His head was bowed, and he had gone completely still, white as a marble.

Itachi fell down to his knees and picked up the heart and tried to put it back in, but the marble that was his brother's dead body, cracked under his touched and crumbled away; and the dead heart that beat no more, turned to ashes in the palm of his hand. He felt something come up to his throat, and he shut his eyes as if he did not want to look upon his dead brother anymore and opened them again to find the dim light of the fire flickering on the roof. It was still night, and the room, warm . . .

Itachi's heart was beating so fast. His mouth was dry, and his head spun painfully in the grip of heat. He was suffering from fever. Suddenly, the shirt on his torso felt heavier than the heaviest weight he had ever lifted. He sat up with great difficulty and reached to his back. Then he pulled it off and threw it away.

His skin was shivering and glistening with sweat. His limbs ached and so did his heart. It was still throbbing so painfully in the grip of fear and anguish. He bent forward, putting his face in his hands. _It was just a dream_ _—j_ _ust a dream_ . . . he assured his heart, but it would not listen. The heart still beat and trembled with great sorrow that he had never felt before.

Itachi coughed and felt the vomit rise up to his throat. He forced it down and stood up on his shaking legs. His vision was blurry, and his head was hurting. A dull pain was spreading in his skull. He staggered to the door that led to the garden and opened it. The cool wind hit him, and the smell of it made that vomit come up to his teeth. He fell down on his knees and fell forward, slapping his hands on the cold floor to keep his balance, and that set him to retching.

He vomited till his stomach was empty. The he finally pulled himself up and fell back against the frame of the door. He wiped his mouth and sat there like this with his eyes closed, feeling the breeze and soft drizzle fall upon his shivering torso and cool his fever. He opened his eyes when he felt something itchy crawl down his right cheek. He lifted his hand and touched his cheek with the tip of his fingers, and when his hand came away, there was blood on it. His right eye was bleeding.

Itachi watched the raindrops hit and dilute it. It trailed down his white arm till even his Sharingan could not tell if it was ever red. His heart had picked up the pace again, and the fear—the mortal fear he had felt in his sleep—came back once more: had he just seen a vision from Izanagi . . . ?

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	49. The Devil's Moth

**Chapter Forty-Nine** : The Devil's Moth

 **AN** : _**Temizuya**_ is a Shinto water ablution pavilion and _**Komainu**_ are lion-like pairs of guardian statues that guard the shrine; _**Izumi**_ is a traditional crib for a child and _**Torii**_ are gates found at the Shinto shrines.

Yes, I'm also aware that these **Devil's Moths** exist, and they don't share the colours of the 'fictional' autumn moths; furthermore, the 'devil' is more of a thematic title rather than a theological reference. Keep that in mind.

This chapter is dedicated to my good friend " **Chie**."

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It was a windy night. Few birds were flying over a big watermill that slowly creaked, unable to move completely. Birds would swoop down, bounce, and glide into the air currents and then land back again on the flume. He could only see a thin trickle come down from its mouth. The water had probably gone dry up in the stream. If it rained again, the mill would move tonight.

The birds, with snowy plumage, flew up to start the game again, trilling and chirping nosily now. These were the grey night-birds. It had been a while since he saw one. He had not been in this part of the Land of Rivers in so long. It was a small village that served as a resting place for travelers—the only one he could find close to the caves in the mountains near the Hidden Valleys' Village.

Wind chimes knocked together noisily at the door of a small shop. So many people were out on the rough streets today: it was a local religious festival. Countless lanterns, big and round, hung from the ropes stretched from one roof to another. They bobbed in the wind. One fell down and nearly landed on a passerby's head. He yelled at the shop owner who quickly muttered an apology, grabbed the lantern, and disappeared into the shop.

Women and children wore colourful kimonos. It was such a chaos of bright lights and colours; they broke the night's deep shadows that just hovered over the whole festival. He breathed in a soft breath and got a whiff of something familiar, and those cold, hesitant lips seemed so nearly to smile outright. Dangos!

Fresh, round, and colourful dangos; and a vendor was selling them just a couple of feet away from the restaurant. Sweets. He had always been fond of them. If it was between something spicy and his favourite sweet, he chose the latter. He did not know why, but the taste of sugar on his tongue made him happy. It was light; it lifted his spirits, and it was just something from his childhood that he still clung to—fleeting pleasures of innocence, possibly the only one he had managed to save over the years as a Shinobi.

He looked at the vendor again, indecisive. His fingers and legs slightly twitched as though he wanted to move forward, a smile threatening his lips; but he stifled it. Serizawa and Karin appeared from behind the large sacred-stone. He looked a little whimsical and out of it. There was a scroll in his left hand. Karin was a little chirpy. The festival and colours excited her. She spun around once and then twice to look everywhere, nearly bumping into a few people. There was a wide smile on her pink-ish face.

Serizawa stopped by the small guardian deity statue, which stood amid shivering shrubs, and held out the scroll. "Itachi-Sama, it's from the Hokage," he said and watched Itachi as he took it from his hand and read the message. A deep breath escaped Itachi's lips, but he said nothing. He burnt the scroll with a small Katon Jutsu and looked back at him.

"Take Karin and survey the area up in the mountains and meet me at the temple on the hill in half an hour," he said, directing his gaze to her face now. A small frown was beginning to form on her features: she opened and closed her mouth several times as if she wanted to protest, but in the end, she chose silence and strode off with Serizawa towards the gates on the east-side.

The dull sound of a bell came throbbing through the trees down the hill. He gazed up, and at that moment, a streak of red flew across his vision, and his hand shot out to grab it out of the air. It was a pinwheel—its straw was slightly crooked. The wheel still spun to the left in the wind. He raised his eyes and gazed upon a wee girl, no older than five, who buried her face into the material of her mother's kimono.

She sat down and urged her to go forward with a little encouraging pat on the back. The small girl's cheeks were red, and her big round eyes filled with tears. She approached him with small fearful steps till she was standing close to him. Her head tipped back to look up at his face—her small, wavy hair left in a wild disarray. Two tiny combs threatened to fall out of her hair.

Her pink mouth trembled, round cheeks turned deep red, and she raised both her hands in the air with such an innocent challenge in her eyes: it was her pinwheel, and she wanted it back! The little one amused him. He turned it one last time between his fingers and lowered his hand. She took it from him with a big and beautiful smile spreading across her face and ran off to her mother. The woman hugged her close and smiled at him, before she took her daughter's hand in hers and walked off to a small shrine on the left.

It was like something suddenly flashed right before his eyes. In that moment, all scents of sweets and noises in the air were forgotten. There was nothing but stillness for him now. The languid sounds of voices and the sluggish movement of the watermill . . . everything vanished in the sharp sounds of wind, shattered like glass—so many pieces that he could not collect them all (even his Sharingan-eye failed him).

The smile was gone, and his eyes stared at the woman and the girl as though he knew them from another life, another time. It just seemed so familiar, so soft and real. She still held the straw in her tiny hand, and the paper windmill spun and spun in the wind, making his thoughts whirl with it. His mouth got so dry, and his tongue was thick and pulpy—a thirsty traveler who had not tasted a drop of water for days. He did not know when he moved towards the stone stairs, and the rain came pouring down after a rumbling call from the sky.

Itachi heard the soft cry of the little girl behind him, but it was forgotten in the midst of his memories' storm. He climbed the stairs with firm steps. They never faltered. He had never known them to falter ever since he left the grasp of childhood behind. He was as sure of foot as the devout monks who had climbed these stairs a thousand times. Few gusts of wind hit him and sent shivers down his spine, but his thoughts were too strong for such distractions.

He passed through the _torii_ that had borne the lashes of Time and Nature and came across a dilapidated temple. The stay that supported the heavy bell had rotted away and fallen down into what were the final remnants of the sanctuary: it was nothing more than a heap of rubble and stones. The bell lay on its side by a small set of stairs. When the wind rushed at it, its clapper collided against the inside to produce faint sounds. They would never be able to repair it.

Itachi looked through the light drizzle and mist at the _temizuya_. Its roof was still intact—everything below it was broken. His steps were slow, deliberate, almost cautious; and his ears were filled with such soft and pretty sounds from her lips.

"Itachi, you can offer something at the small shrine. It will bring you luck," she said and looked at him, staring into the very depths of his eyes as he looked up to gaze upon her white face, sun shining behind her . . . that he stopped at the small shrine. It was broken. He thoughtlessly reached into his pocket and took out a coin.

The head of the deity had fallen off, its smile broken and crooked. He could not even tell if it really was a child or not. He sat down on one knee and put the coin before it into the small stone basin, his fingers touching the rough and wet stone there.

He could hear her whisper to him in soft, loving tones: "you're a good boy, Itachi—you're such a good boy." Her fingers swept the curve of his cheek. She bent down, and then her delicate red lips were on his right cheek and then the left; and he could feel them leave a soft, pleasurable tingle upon his skin and could smell the fleeting scent of fresh sandalwood in her hair that he blinked once and closed his eyes and gave a slight jerk of his head.

"Okā-San . . . " he whispered, bent his head down, looked at the water pour out of the basin.

Itachi had not thought of her in so long. He had left her behind the heavy veils of distance and Time. When the massacre happened, and her lips were moistened with a bit of water, he did not know what he felt then. Anger, sadness . . . loneliness? Sasuke was too young, only six, and he was but a boy himself: the burden was too great for a child's heart to bear. She was gone just like that, and he did not know what to do, did not know how to comfort a child.

Slowly, he raised himself up to his feet, and his senses focused on that single woman in his scattered memories. The rain was louder up here, pattering on the bell and what was left of the roof. Thunder would shriek and rumble right after a few flashes of lightning. His skin was cold and so was his heart; even after so many years, he was still distant and aloof to her death.

She was young when she died—only thirty-five—but he could remember her so clearly: her heaving breast as she laughed; her vibrating, long, and beautiful white throat; the twinkle in her deep black eyes. She used to press her fingers delicately to her bosom and tip her head back to let out a trill of musical laughter. Then she would press her hand over her mouth to suppress it. It was a habit. He had noted over the years that her lips would turn so red and her cheeks so pink when she got happy, which gave a rosy hue to her skin.

The rain slowed to a light drizzle and moonlight tore through the last flimsy sheet of clouds. Shadows climbed over the naked rocks and the cracked and destroyed _komainu_ ; their jaws were missing and one of them had no arm. He could not tell which one was supposed to have its mouth open. Itachi turned his head away and took a few steps to stand under _temizuya's_ roof. His mind was still lost. Why, after all this time, was he remembering her now?

The oldest vivid memory he had of her was when she was carrying Sasuke in her belly. It was only slightly round, and when he asked her that when he could have his little brother, she told him that he would come when summer would be at an end. She roamed around in the garden, picking up a few dry leaves from the ground. The sun was in her hair, and she turned around and smiled at him. It was still spring and flowers bloomed fresh everywhere.

He leant back against the wooden pillar and peered at the apertures in the wall of the shrine. He tried to distract himself, but the smell of her was still in his nose. Fresh. Beautiful. Soft. After all these years, he was forced to ask himself: what did he really feel about her? He still did not know. Underneath the darkness upon his mind, there on the delicate gossamer cobwebs, were but a few recollections he could feel something about—feel something fleeting and sweet move his heart just a bit.

Mikoto was a lovely one. When she had Sasuke, he noticed that her breasts grew rounder, larger. She used to open a few buttons and slip her hand beneath the collar there that it would slip off her shoulder to reveal her breast. Then she would direct Sasuke's eager mouth to her soft, brownish nipple with a warm blush. She was happy that she had had another son. He was happy, too—perhaps even happier than she.

Did he . . . love her? Itachi breathed in a soft hiss of breath. Cool droplets of water glided a path down his neck, and his shirt's collar fluttered. Small disturbances. Tonight, the memory of her was too strong, palpable. It was as though he could sense the tips of her fingers upon his cheek and forehead leave new sensations and feelings for him to mull over. Innocent touches, lovely touches, they were so full of love and warmth.

"I love you, Itachi," she whispered in his ear and kissed that cold cheek with a hungry fondness. "Don't you ever forget it. You're _my_ lovely boy—my precious boy. Kami gifted you to me, and I'll always be grateful." Then she walked off into the garden and stood under the light drizzle. The lovely sounds from her lips, still hanging there from a single web in his memories, trembled and moved like insects that had no escape: the web was their eternal grave. He thought it strange how her voice, and the sweet scent of her, struck his senses simultaneously that he could actually see the memory: he was there, and she was standing in the light of the moon, wet and laughing like a wee girl.

The long skirt she wore stuck to her skin, and her nipples peaked in the cold—the material dark, interspersed with such beautiful edges of gloomy, greyish light; his eyes followed their ghostly shimmer, and he could see her, all of her: the gleam of her young white flesh, and the soft roundness of her breasts and buttocks; and she laughed and laughed with her head tipped back, moving her hands over her bosom and face in futile attempts to rid herself of the raindrops beaded on the rich fringe of her lashes, her white face, and that supple bosom.

She looked over to him, and he could only stare at the light shining in her eyes, and then the veins in her neck and face pumped a pink hue to her skin, and she was blushing again—so girlish and so young. Her wet black hair whipped across her white face, few clung to her ruddy cheeks; she put her hands over her mouth, and the laughter shook that delicate, soft body.

Her hands reached out to him, and her voice echoed like the whispers of the dead around him: "come to me, Itachi. Don't you want to play in the rain? It's the first rain of autumn. It's so lovely. Come—come!" She gestured to him again with the flick of her hand.

Itachi did not move, but he saw a specter, a little boy, move to her in his place. She took his hand in hers and sat down and drew him into her lap; and she pressed the boy's head against her breast and smoothed his hair. The loud thumps of her warm heart resounded in his ears as she wrapped her arms around him to pull him close. The soft side of her red mouth trembled with a smile, and she bent her head down to kiss him on the wet forehead and blushing cheeks. She raised her startled face to Sasuke's cries from a small _izumi_ put under the roof where she could see him. He was crying with hunger . . .

There was a slow expansion of his lungs and a deep sigh. Then the air was slowly exhaled, and he leant his head back against the pillar, thinking: what did he feel about her? And _still_ he had no answer. He had forgotten her and her memories. It was not anything deliberate. He thought it was for the best. Slowly, very slowly, she faded from his memories and was pushed back under the pile of so many. She was just a haze in others . . . a shadow that talked and walked across his memories.

When he looked back now, after experiencing the first ooze from his ripe genitals that told him he had turned into a man, he would say that she was . . . beautiful. She had such delicate, lovely curves and perfect white skin that must have been the envy of many women. Her features were set in a soft, lovely mould. She always looked innocent to him—young, pure, and naïve.

There really was not much to think about her. She was his mother and they called her Mikoto and she was so lovely. She loved him, and she blushed and laughed in the first rain of autumn. There really was not anything else about her that would startle him, make him think of her twice. If it was not for the scent, he would not have remembered her at all.

Itachi looked up and saw an autumn mouth crawling on the cracked wood, fluttering its wings above his head. He raised his hand, and it climbed onto his finger. They called it the devil's moth, too: it poisoned its mate and was attracted to strong chakra. Perhaps it had followed him here from the festival. He did not know. It so loved the purple lilies.

And then his mind went elsewhere. Did he ever love anyone? Mikoto loved him so much, and he did not think he ever felt the same way—ever returned her love. Perhaps he appreciated her love, her kindness. As a child, she would dote on him, stroke his hair, and read him folktales of the Uchiha clan from a distant past. It always used to pique his curiosity, and he would ask that was it possible to make Sharingan Genjutsus more powerful to fell the enemies?

Her eyes would see him with an unspeaking wariness as if she was seeing him for the first time, and the silence between them would hang like a discarded little thing. All she could manage then was a shy little smile and a few words that he was too young and innocent to talk of battlefields and war. He felt that Mikoto always treated him like a silly child that was so fragile that he needed her to protect him. It always used to draw that small ire and indifference from him, but he ignored it for she was his mother, and she loved him; _it's natural for mothers to be foolish_ , he had reasoned then.

Love probably made fools out of people. His heart suddenly trembled at the thought, and a shiver ran through his body. Even the moth felt it, and it began fluttering with a kind of uneasiness. It did not want to go out into the rain. Wind would rip apart its fragile wings and rain would ruin them. It wanted to stay on his hand and feed upon a little of his chakra. How foolish was he?

Her softening lips came to Itachi's mind, and he saw her tempting ghost again in the vast web of his memories, kissing little Sasuke in her arms. The child used to look at him and let out a startled little laugh as though something about him made his little heart so happy. His plump cheeks would grow so red and warm. Then Itachi would move his finger playfully above his face, and he would reach out eagerly to grab it and emit a lovely, innocent laugh as though he had conquered something so big.

He never had had any urge to pick up children, but he found himself drawing Sasuke to himself and steadying him in his arms to look back at the eyes that had seen nothing but a few rooms, streets, and faces. They were pure and innocent. There was a new life in that small body and the smell of it was so like his own!

Sasuke was a little part, a small piece of himself and his heart. He did not know why he thought that way as a child, but he did. He used to rock him to sleep in the garden and sit among the lilies. The sun was a little warm in the first weeks of autumn and Sasuke liked it. He always drifted to sleep in his small arms; and when he would slide his eyes down the clean—and such soft—lines of his round cheeks, he would see nothing but pure innocence, love, wonder there.

It had struck his heart then, the slow fluttering of the babe's lashes and the growing smile upon the softest pink mouth he had ever seen, as Sasuke would look upon him . . . and all was forgotten. Everything was wondrous and pure and love. Itachi had asked himself many times over the years: why did he love him so much? And just like his mind failed him to weave a reason for her, he had none for him, too. He just did. It was easy. It was simple.

Somewhere in the past, when he was but a boy and he had seen Mikoto's belly grow with Sasuke, he had felt something inside his heart: a raw anticipation, thrill, love. Sometimes, he used to sit beside her and stare at her growing belly, and she would touch it tenderly and tell him that he would be his brother and that he would have to protect him. That Sasuke was a part of him the way he was of her, and that they were brothers, and they would always find strength and love in this eternal bond of flesh and blood.

Itachi had believed her then. He still did—he always did. For all her girlish charms and naivety, her words were true. He grew to love the small and pure child over the years. Little by little, as he inevitably lost his own innocence before the vulgarities of life, Sasuke became _his_ innocence. He was that pure, ethereal part of himself that he so cherished. Sasuke's smile so lightened his burdens when hers never did. And he . . . just did not understand. Sasuke was to him, what he was to Mikoto: something pure and innocent that needed to be loved from the deepest depths of their human hearts; the hearts that were affected by human faults, errors, and lusts.

And oh, she had loved him the way he had always loved Sasuke. Itachi could still remember her bloody hands trembling upon his cheeks, her eyes filling with such pain. Those pretty lips smeared with so much blood as she reached up to plant a kiss on the side of his mouth. She could not do it. Death had her fragile body in its grasp. It was dragging that struggling spirit out of her skin, and her very bones shook with the paroxysm of the final bits and pieces of life that pitifully struggled to hold on—to tell him that she loved him with all her heart. That he was her precious boy. And she fell back lifelessly into his arms, her eyes staring into his as though they were a blank-canvas that needed the colour of life to fill their depths.

Mikoto was dead. His mother was gone, and he felt warm tears trace the soft lines of his expressionless face. He had set her down gently and sat there, smoothing her hair and wiping away the blood from her face as if it marred her innocence. When the first rain of autumn fell down, he looked down at her again to see that she was just staring up, and he felt that she was about to smile, laugh a little for the rain made her happy. It made her blush; but that skin was growing white, and she began to look more and more like a still, lifeless wooden-doll, and he just wanted to look away.

Someone threw a white cloth over her body, and instantly, red soaked through, making it appear spotty and unclean. He did not lift it then, and he did not raise it at the funeral. He wanted to remember her with the tremble of a soft smile on her beautiful face, and the tinkle of her laugh, ringing like the soft sounds of the chimes at the door in the garden. That was how he chose to remember her and her loveliness and her soft naivety; so when she was buried, he forgot it all, too—forgot the red, that haunting and ugly stillness in her face, and the hardening body in the rain.

Itachi turned his head to the sounds of steps, and the moth flew away from the tip of his fingers. The wind was soft and the rain had stopped. His mind was whole again. Serizawa appeared with Karin in his wake. Itachi walked to the edge of the cliff and peered down over the edge at the darkness below. He peered for a long time, looking at the valley below that was so full of shadows.

His mind was cleared of all confusion, and he was cold again. Then he jumped down into the dark, and she was left behind amongst the broken stones of the shrine like a forgotten memory—never to be remembered so fondly again . . .

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	50. A Warm Winter's Night

**Chapter Fifty** : A Warm Winter's Night

 **AN** : **Tayūs'** were Japanese courtesans that were more common in the **Edo Period**.

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Rain had stopped and sun was warm in a distant, aloof sort of way. Winter was coming. They could feel it in their bones. The air was filled with a new chill. It was softer today—sun had been merciful. It would soon lose that mercy and grow distant still. He knew it. It was just a fact of life.

Sasuke gazed up, the weak light glowing on his skin. It was so warm, pleasant. He felt a slight tingle there as if it had just touched that cheek so tenderly. He breathed in a mouthful of that sweet air. It was cool, bearable, but it would change soon. The Sensors told them that winter was really upon them, and this time, the peaks up north would be covered in the first snow of winter.

Itachi came into his mind suddenly, and his face hardened; but then, as if a flood of lovely memories washed over him, the look slowly went away from his face and he appeared grim and sober again. It was his mask—the one he wore so regularly. It would snow where his brother had gone. The cold and what he had done would only make him suffer . . .

He leant back against the tree, his head down, hair fallen across his eyes. He looked troubled. A deep sigh came from his heart and lips. It was wrong, but anger consumed him—fiery, hateful anger. His brother was cruel. He was cold. He cared for no one but himself. All Itachi desired was for him to break and bend before his commands.

Sasuke had grown resentful of his games. They wore him down, humiliated him, and left him a broken toy he discarded and then decided to put back together on a whim. He was like a small leaf floating upon the unsteady waters of Itachi's violent heart, not knowing when a cruel wave would drown him, consume him, and leave him for dead.

He inhaled sharply, cold bombarding his lungs, and glanced over to Suigetsu who stood confused and dazzled by the dreadful black bird's presence. He looked up at the crow staring down at him with a keen, sharp Sharingan eye. He strained his face, and shadows of the leaves threw themselves across his wan features as the sun moved just a little higher. He screwed his eyes up, blinked thrice, and then opened them so wide that Sasuke thought they would fall out of his sockets. Then he made such a wary, fearful face and gave a shake of his head, glancing towards him with a questioning look for the hundredth time. He knew what he would ask him: _why was it still here?_

Sasuke let out a sigh and looked away. He wanted to feel something . . . something like guilt to rattle him out of this quest, but he did not. The wounds Itachi had left upon him in the forest would never heal. They were stains on his pride—something he would carry upon himself for as long as he lived—and he would . . . _never_ forgive him for that. His heart fluttered with a kind of unsettling sensation, protesting against his wild decisions. He let it beat with an unsteady rhythm.

Whatever happened to his beloved brother was not his concern anymore. He hurt him terribly and he had to pay, too. It was only fair. It was only sweet and innocent revenge. Sasuke was used to it. He would blunt Itachi's kunais when he was but a four-year-old little boy and hide them in the garden when Itachi did not listen to him. It caused the boy so much distress, but it so delighted Sasuke when Itachi would pace around with a look of worry on his face. He had ignored him. He had to pay.

But Itachi always caught him. He would just smile at Sasuke, telling him that he was such a mischievous little boy who caused him distress, and left him home for days with his mother; and he would wait and wait in the garden, looking out at the sky, counting the hours when his brother, his only brother, would come back and play with him in the forest. Days would pass by, and he would grow angry, almost resentful, with him. Fugaku was always silent about the matter of his anguish, innocent pleas to tell him that when his older brother would be back.

"He is on an important mission, Sasuke," he used to say, with eyes hard, and a bit of stern look would cross that white face that was always moulded into a mask of a formal, rigid expression. Then his eyes would slide over that soft face filled with a child's anguish and darken with an emotion that he never understood; and he would speak again with a slight, forgettable softness to his heavy voice: "your brother is a brilliant Shinobi. He has to be away on many missions. You will understand one day. You are just too young for this now."

And Sasuke never did. He never understood why his father loved the older one and never so much as smiled at him. He tried so hard to please him, learn things on his own. Itachi promised many things, but he hardly ever stayed true to his promises. He was just a liar. He always had been. So blinded by love he was that he just never noticed Itachi's little lies.

Sasuke bunched his hand into a tight fist, and a shiver ran through his body and that rigid spine that so delightfully tingled with a new anger that rose inside him. Anger simmered his blood, and he fought for control for just a second before his emotions betrayed him. The feeling was gone. It was just a subtle ache of a childish anger now. He could manage it.

A mocking smile came across his lips, and he seemed much more at ease. Voices floated to him from behind the bare trees and Kai, Sakura, Hinata, and Yuu came into view a second later. They had a mission today and were asked to sweep the forest and get rid of any bandits hiding in the caves by the river. _Kill the pesky bandits_! It was an easy task. He wondered whether they would even find any as they were holed up close to the outpost several kilometres away from here. Another pointless task. Another fool's errand.

The higher lobby just loved this display of showy arrogance. It did not matter to him. Their politics were none of his concern. As long as he dragged the swine through the messy sty and let the world know that he reeked of filth, he was content.

Kai looked over to him and suddenly created such a whimsical expression that it surprised him. Behind him, Hinata stood with her eyes upon the sun. Her face often worked with dreamy expressions these days. Next to her, Sakura's soft green eyes swallowed him whole. It always felt as though he relived the same moment over and over again whenever he looked at her—it was almost tedious.

Kai said something to Yuu when Jūgo came into the clearing with three Chūnins and walked to him. His steps were a little urgent and clumsy. He looked tired. Keeping an eye on Sasuke was proving to be quite the ordeal for him. His face was pallid with an almost sickly yellow tinge about the cheeks. He cleared his throat and coughed once before he looked into his eyes—with a deep frown in that brow beaded with a bit of sweat.

"Sasuke, you are to sweep the area to the east," he said and pointed his hand at a tree a couple of yards away. "Take Yuu and Sakura with you and no one else. Jūgo and Suigetsu are required for another task."

"Sakura?" Sasuke asked with a look of irritation just beginning to develop on his face. "Nii-Sama took Karin with him, my best Sensor, and now he wants me to sweep the area with a Sensor in training? That seems fair. You don't have to be so obedient. There's nothing to gain from him, I can assure you." He smiled, which was more along the lines of a ghostly sneer, and his eyebrows rose in a show of irritation.

Kai let out a heavy sigh that moved his breast, and then he looked back at him, appearing unconcerned and cold. "Sasuke, I don't know—I'm just following Itachi-Sama's orders. It's not like you have a choice. You should just obey. It's for the best," he said and Sasuke could almost taste the arrogance in his voice, and he loathed how Kai was looking down on him just because of the little power he enjoyed under Itachi's wide wing: his _own_ brother.

Sasuke stepped closer and stood stiff and erect, a cold smile reaching his eyes, and they began to glint with such an intense emotion that Kai's eyes fluttered once and squinted against the malice he radiated. "I wonder for how long you would enjoy this little power," he rasped softly, watching as more sweat oozed out of the pores and slowly quivered down Kai's skin that shivered ever so slightly with a fear his heart could not understand.

Sasuke made to walk when Kai spoke again: "you're responsible for this ordeal—no one else. Don't take your anger out on me. No one deserves your wrath. You had a choice to stay put, but you ran away. You think only of yourself and not of your brother. Remember, he's human, too. He gave in to his anger because of _your_ stubbornness even though he loves you so much, and you suffered for it. But you are to blame for your mistakes, not him. The world does not revolve around only you. He's more on his mind than _just_ you. I really wish you could understand that." Then he said no more and turned his eyes away.

"A couple of years under Nii-Sama's turned you into a poet. A birth of a new hobby. A miracle. Aren't you a lucky man? I wonder who you're really trying to convince of this to gain more from him, me or yourself? I just wonder," he said and smiled, taking two steps backwards and turning around to walk away from him. He commanded Sakura and Yuu to follow him and left the clearing without looking back at him.

It did not take them long to reach the river to the east. He decided to split up there and leave Yuu to scan the area on the edge of the river. It was a ground covered with pebbles and sand. The water gathered in there in summers and lush grass grew in abundance. It was so dry and grey now. His eyes traced the silent shore, and he turned away abruptly and started running towards the caves up in the cliffs.

Sasuke kept his running speed slow to allow her to catch up. She was so slow. He did not look back at her, but he could hear her struggling to breathe, to catch up to his speed. It was just dreadful. It took them so long to cover such a small distance. He could have done without this distraction.

At last, they arrived at the foot of the hills. The boulders were big and round here and the dry grass grew tall. He turned around and saw Sakura slowing down her run. She stopped and bent forward with her hands on her knees, panting. He raised his gaze slightly, and his Sharingan could tell that the crow was sitting about a hundred meters away. It was so persistent . . . just like his brother: _birds of a feather_ ; and he almost had an urge to laugh at the thought.

Sakura's small shoulders lifted on a quick inhale, and she raised her deeply flushed face to him, savouring the look on his face that was without the usual touch of arrogance and mockery. Her neck and face were so sweaty. Her hammering heart finally stilled, and her breath slowed from harsh spurts to shaky ones with an occasional shuddering one that shook her body.

For a few moments, he kept looking at her, appraising her. She was odd, always had been, but something had changed in her eyes in the past year or two. And he could tell that it stirred an emotion in their depths, and her heart would beat with a new kind of dangerous and wild yearning that a sensation of ache, pain would streak through her—angry chakra bolting through her thin veins. It was an exquisite thing that aroused nothing but curiosity from him. It was her. She had to be the rat in his Team. He just needed to check something.

The caw of the crow disturbed the long spell of silence, and he finally turned around and started walking to the boulders, and then his walk progressed to a jog and she ran behind him, too, clambering onto the rocks, jumping as high as she could to stick her feet to the stones. The chakra there was smooth and even—an easy task for her.

They reached the top of the cliffs in a few minutes. The wind blew strong here, and the mouths of the caves were covered in a thin layer of mist. His Sharingan was enough to tell him that it was just a trick of nature. He glanced at her for a moment and commanded: "scan the caves."

Sakura nodded in silence and clasped her fingers together and pointed just two upwards to Sense. She kneaded enough chakra to sense a few caves. They were large enough for a small child to crawl through, but she knew that a little Doton-Jutsu could always fix that. Shadows slid down like black tar on both sides, and she could barely see anything inside the cave. It was so dark there. Nothing noticeable hit her senses. She gazed at him out of the corner of her eyes and saw him looking at her as if he was sizing her up.

His face was completely expressionless. His Sharingan was out, and it was raking over her fragile body, piercing through the mortal skin and bones to gaze upon the perfect web of her chakra veins, and she felt . . . denuded before him—naked and willing to allow herself this silly pleasure that, at least, his eyes were gentle today.

She started panting. Her breaths came out a little faster as thin wisps of warm air, and she started to make a few hand-seals to pour out the chakra from the seal (on her forehead) when he stopped her. "No need," he said lazily and ran his eyes around the cave. His Sharingan gave colour to every little thing. The chakra glowed orange in one snake and pinkish in the other. They were poisonous. The flowers growing out of the cracks cradled their own soft chakra. The whole network of caves was a disjointed mass of colours. It was empty. If anyone ever took refuge there, then they were long gone.

He gazed at her and his eyes were soft. So soft and so beautiful, and he was looking at her so fondly that her heart could not take it anymore. It leapt up with such girlish joy. Her face got hot, and she stiffened when he stretched his arm and brushed his fingers on the back of her neck. She could feel the whorls on the fingers there. Heat coiled in her stomach, and a red haze came over her that the bare skin trembled and heated at the warm, sensuous glide of his fingers. Something cold tingled there and disappeared. It was a sudden stab of a different kind of sensation, but it disappeared just as quickly.

She caught her breath in a disappointed sigh when he pulled his hand away. The skin still ached and quivered like a needy maiden in heat. Blood roared in her ears, and the feeling did not recede. "I thought it was a yellow spider. They're poisonous," he said and looked away again.

Sakura turned her head away, and a few tears tracked her cheeks. She hastily wiped them away and glanced at him. He had not looked her way. She reached up to touch where he had touched, and her fingers were ice-cold against the flesh there. The skin burnt and throbbed like an open wound, but she smiled that he was not cold to her today.

Sasuke blinked, and the Sharingan spun with less haste in his eyes now. She was still sensing weakly, feeling the palpable aura of his thick, sinister chakra roil wildly in his veins. It was so monstrous, so powerful, so incredibly beautiful that the more she focused on it, the more she could feel it flow out of his body as stormy tidal waves that sought to destroy her, crush her to pieces, and touch her skin in such an intimate, sweet way that gooseflesh broke out all over her fair body, and her thighs quaked with a warmth that was almost primal in nature.

It was a raw and real feeling of lust. How would it _really_ feel to touch him intimately, draw that hot chakra out of his stubborn, cold body, make it grow, watch it harden, and slip into her waiting form and hit the very core of her soul and mould it in a savage way only he could? She parted her mouth, feeling as though she could almost taste him upon her tongue, and she lost the voice to speak.

Sasuke was looking to the right, still seeing it all through his Sharingan, and she was left behind like an afterthought in that moment, again. Sakura breathed in a shaky breath and moved her eyes over his sweaty neck, and the skin that had turned slightly red there with the running, his veins beating hotly under the skin there.

"Should I . . . ?" she asked lowly in a timid voice. He was kind today, so there was no need to displease him.

"No," he said and threw her a guarded look and turned around to jump down. "There's nothing to see here."

Sakura did not say anything. She followed him down the cliff, jumping on the slippery boulders. Moss had grown thick over them, but her chakra control was enough to cut a safe path for her feet. She followed him silently, not saying a word, when she wanted to say so much.

When they arrived at the shore, Yuu had still not come back. A pleasant smile spread across her pink lips, and she felt her cheeks become warm. It was such a silly feeling. She felt like a child. They were all alone . . . Sasuke bent down and picked up a smooth stone. He snapped his wrist and threw it at the still water—it skipped over the surface countless times till it disappeared behind the wall of fog. He sighed and looked at the crow as it cawed with a tilt of his head.

"I heard you—be quiet," he said, sounding almost amused, and then he bent his arm, "come here." He indicated with a flick of his head. The crow twisted its head around a little and stretched its neck out as though it was deliberating; then it flew down and landed on his arm with a powerful movement of its black wings.

He stroked its head, and the Sharingan pulsed and whirled with its red eyes. "You're such a mean little thing," he whispered and ran his fingers across that coarse beak, and the crow cawed loudly again—it understood what he said. "So mean and nosy." And he playfully tilted his head left and then tilted his head right with the crow's movements, and it, too, tilted its head to the left and to the right and then back again, playing with him.

It bent its head forward and back and then to the right to copy his movements. It let out a loud caw and flapped its wings again excitedly. Sasuke laughed in response. Sakura looked on, staring at him and the crow. It was so strange. She did not understand him and what made him happy. He was a child now, drawing amusement out of something so . . . silly, she thought. At that moment, Suigetsu came running towards him, waving his arms frantically.

"Sasuke, get away from that nasty bag a feathers. It almost poked me eyes out. Save yor good looks!" he yelled and drew near. The crow glared at him with its glowing Sharingan eye and flew up to land on the same branch obediently from where it had come down.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as the crow cawed over and over again in a disapproving manner. It was beginning to give him a bad headache. He looked up, locking its red eyes with its tiny ones that bore the spinning shurikens and spoke: "quiet." And it fell silent immediately, hopping to the right and left in such an impatient manner as though it wanted to let out a piercing scream again.

"Gimme a minute," he said, huffing and puffing, with his hand pressed to his heaving breast. Then he reached to his back and pulled out a bottle to take a few gulps of cold water. A satisfied sigh came from his mouth adorned with sharp and strong teeth. They were well-set and sparkled with a pearly lustre in the weak light. Sasuke always found them odd.

He turned his eyes and gazed at Sakura's pink and confused face. "Pinky-Chan, haven't seen ya in days," he almost shouted with a wide smile on his face, "last I saw ya, ya was pink in the face, with stars in yor eyes as ya scanned Itachi-Sama all the way through like ya had a Byakugan. The thirst was real!" He breathed out a heavy sigh and shook his head and stared up at the sky with a sober expression as if he was praying before the gods for his dear life.

Sakura's cheeks were loaded with a hot red colour. She looked surprised, and then a deathly pallor spread over her features—the blood had drained from her face and body. Her face transformed again and grew rigid, and the usually pleasant curl of her mouth vanished into a hard and thin line. She looked murderous.

"It's a'right—I can understand a bit," he spoke with an air of adult seriousness and a slight wave of his free hand, "I mean, he's less pretty compared ta Sasuke here, but he's just a lil' sharper, a lil' harder, and a bit longer—puns could be there. And maybe, thicker—"

"Knock it off. She isn't used to your vulgar jokes. And don't talk about Nii-Sama like that _ever_ again. Shame on you," Sasuke reproached him, looking a little annoyed, and the toothy smile returned to Suigetsu's face.

"But 'am not jokin'! The romantic, such deep, and much feelin' poet in me observed it all," he said and closed his eyes to breathe in deeply, "saw it with me own two beady eyes. Pinky-Chan thirsts and has a buncha complicated feelins for 'im. There's no other shit there. Am just tellin' ya!"

"Sasuke!" Sakura shouted in anger and indignation, her fists shaking.

"Suigetsu, behave yourself," he said a little tersely and Suigetsu raised his hands in the air, muttered out an indistinct ' _a'right_ ' twice, and broke into mischievous chuckles.

Sakura turned away from them in a huff and sat down near the shore. She grabbed the stones and began throwing them into the water and watched the ripples grow and disappear. Suigetsu put his hands behind his neck and looked back to Sasuke who was gazing up at the crow again.

"I gave Kai a slip," he whispered and a deep, rough laughter rippled in his throat. "Son a bitch's probably runnin' around in circles to locate that shrine. Ya looked at me weird when ya left. What is it?"

Sasuke lowered his head to look down towards the shiny pebbles by his sandals. "It's her," he said in a chilly voice.

"Her, ya mean—Pinky-Chan? What doya mean?" he asked and a thin layer of sweat suddenly collected at the back of his neck. That did not sound good at all . . .

"She's the one leaking the information about me," he said, and a stunned expression crossed Suigetsu's white face that grew whiter by the second. "It can't be anyone but her." He turned around and looked off into the distance, his Sharingan sawing through the thick wall to see on the other side: it was just more dry grass and more pebbles there.

"Are ya sure?" he asked, keeping his voice as calm as he could, and took one step to stand beside him. Itachi was gone, and if Sasuke found out that she was working for Danzō, then her days were numbered. And Sasuke would be in grave trouble if he killed her.

"I investigated the shrines before Nii-Sama left," he said slowly and stole a glance at her, "if I draw straight lines, two of them meet exactly at the Root headquarters. It's right in the middle. I found one more hidden in the forest. It was a little farther than those two, but one can carve a straight path from it all the way to those bloody gates."

"Did ya find any more?" he asked and looked fearfully from Sakura's back to Sasuke's white and unkind face. It was trembling, and a soft smile on his lips was quivering just a bit.

"No," he hissed, almost resentfully, "Nii-Sama never gave me the time. He kept all of you busy. It's not even fair—" His face was contorted in such anger that Suigetsu looked away to watch Sakura throw another stone into the river. She was too far away to hear them, but the air suddenly felt so cold and sinister; it had ears that would hear their cold words and a cunning mouth to convey them to his friend's enemies, his enemies, murderers' of his beloved father and brother. He felt a chill right there in his heart and felt a little anger, too, but he had to be the wise one for now.

"But what does it have ta do anythin' with—"

"Her home is close to where Danzō sits like every other damned Root dog," he spoke again and the cutting coldness in his voice was still there. "I had asked Karin weeks ago to confirm the official Anbu and Root seals in Nii-Sama's office concerning our missions—and a few other things. There was no record of her missions when she was temporarily discharged from my service to prepare for the tests. Not even a D-Rank one. It's not even possible for a Chūnin to laze around the house to her heart's content. They always have something to do. Always."

A wave of soft air floated towards them, and the combers rose to that still surface to ran towards the lonely shore. Suigetsu did not know what to say, but he had to say something. "She's Hokage's special lil' bitch. Yor jumpin' ta conclusions. Don't be hasty."

Sasuke squinted his eyes against the breeze and filled his lungs with its sweetness. Then he let out a heavy breath that appeared like fog before his face. "I thought about that," he said and that cold voice was even colder now—it slid over his bluish skin and felt like trembling fingers of the dead, "and, maybe, it's like you say. But then—why did she become a Sensor? Her range doesn't go beyond about a hundred feet, and Hinata was fooled by someone that night from a similar distance.

"It had to be a Sensor. Who else would know where to hide and find that seal-riddled tunnel in the dark? Karin could barely detect them. They were made with some kind of artificial chakra. No wonder it was easy for them to fool someone with a Dōjutsu. There are just too many coincidences. I can't let this slide." And his eyes were hard like dead pebbles upon the ground, and it was chilling Suigetsu, making him shudder and shiver.

"What do ya have in mind? Ya can't just kill her," he whispered lowly and stole a fearful glance at her, "ya just got out on suspensions of murder. And not just any murder— _Fū's_! The guy who dropped the soaps too often before that frisky old faggit. If ya try ta read her head, and she's involved with Root like ya said, I doubt it that they have left this bitch on their payroll without any seal or protection. Danzō ain't that stupid, Sasuke."

Sasuke glared at him, his eyes unmoving. "You think I am a fool?" he hissed again, and his voice came out as a deadly threat, his face taut with rage and purpose, and a vein bulged in his jaw. "Of course she would have a Fuin-Jutsu seal on her. The Uzumaki have always been lapdogs. If I touch her and try to break her mind now, they would know. If she dies so suddenly, then the blame falls on me. Don't think I haven't thought of that."

Suigetsu breathed out a sigh of relief and his heart calmed down. "Ya gave me a scare. Yor a good boy, Sasuke. Am so proud of ya. I thought ya had done somethin' rash outta anger. It ain't like ya ta be so hasty," Suigetsu said with just a touch of faint laughter in his voice. He slowly brought his arms up, stretched, and opened his mouth wide to emit a yawn.

Silence. It was broken by nothing but splashing sounds of the stones hitting the calm waves. Sakura was trying to make the pebble skip over the water. She got to her feet and picked one and jerked her arm back to throw the whitish stone. It only skipped twice before it sank to the bottom. A sound of frustration came from her, and she picked another one to try again.

"I've done something to make it easier," he said, eyeing her with a wild glint in his hawk-eyes, and Suigetsu's mouth was still gaping open but nothing was coming out, "I asked Karin to make one for me as soon as I got suspicious. Now I'll just have to wait for it to grow and consume any seal on her. It shouldn't take more than a few days. The seal doesn't exude chakra as far as my knowledge goes. With this bandit business, Root wouldn't even notice it in the chaos. All you have to do is bring her to me in the forest on that day, and I'll dig one more grave under a barren tree—the one she wanted for me." He smiled just like a wild child and eyed her one last time before he turned away towards the crunching sounds of dry leaves: it was Kai and he had found him.

Suigetsu's arms came down slowly, and he could not help but look at the pink-haired girl as she touched the back of her neck softly. This was bad . . .

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Snow was floating down like feathers and slowly piling up on the small garden. One of the stone lanterns was still burning. The flame flickered and guttered, but it stood tall again. It was not going to go out anytime soon. He had left the door open. A light, frosty draft moved in, and the fire burning in the fireplace by Itachi's futon hardly made a difference.

Itachi was feverish again. He did not understand why his fever did not abate. His limbs ached and these clothes were a burden on his body. He stripped off his shirt again and cast it aside. The breeze felt so cool and soothing on the hot skin that ached and shivered as if he suffered from a terrible ague. It really was just a mild fever . . .

Itachi turned on his Sharingan and stared at the chakra veins pulsing just beneath his skin. His chakra was only slightly disturbed. The illness was mild—nothing his powerful chakra could not remedy after a good night's sleep. But it had been persistent. The fever never truly went away, and the more he drew on his chakra, the more difficult it became to control his crows.

He guessed that he had been using his Mangekyō consistently for the past week now. The crow did not take much of his chakra, but it drew a bit of it daily to maintain that perfect black form. It could also be Kikyo. He frowned and sat up to look at the garden as frost rose into the air sluggishly like a transparent veil.

His head dropped into his hands, and he breathed in and out heavily a few times. The fever slowly receded, and his mind began to focus more clearly on things around him. The draft felt colder now, and his limbs quaked no more. He pulled his hands away and stared down at the chakra again: it was more even now.

Itachi's thoughts turned back to Kikyo again. She could have given him a drug to halt his progress. He would not put it past her. She did not want him to venture too far off into the caves that littered those uneven cliffs like gaping mouths. He could not find anything close to the Valleys' Village. It was a useless foray.

He did not understand why she offered him the scroll herself. Why would she desire to break a pact formed with an Elder by her grandfather? This was a terrible game, and she was too young to play it right. She was still so clumsy. He may not have found anything in the small mountains, but her slips were numerous and silly. She got so many of her own men butchered at the hands of the bandits in the last battle . . . to show that she was being honest and forthcoming. That she was deserving of her position, and the killed Elder was just a pest and a bitter old man.

Such a trick may have deceived a gullible fool, but he saw right through her mistakes. The powder she supplied to those men to make paper-tag explosives was flammable. It was promised that the powder would not catch fire if it got touched by chakra, but it did. As soon as the bandits attacked the outpost, they could smell her treachery in the air.

All they had to do was send their chakra flying at the barrels. A few arrows carried death on their tips to end them all. The barrels exploded, and the whole area was changed into a scene of human shambles. Blood splattered everywhere, and the stench was enough to make the stomach heave and churn. Limbs and arms and heads lay everywhere, but even the stink of fresh blood could not hide her lies. The clouds had stopped a few miles to the north, and rain did not come to wash away the last traces of that pungent smell. She never anticipated it and ended up looking like a fool before her council.

But Itachi still thought she was clever than most. She steered the argument in her favour so skilfully. She had men as her guard—good, loyal men. They came to her defence and laid all the blame down on the suppliers that they had locked away the scent of the chakra with a common seal and that their novice ninjas were not used to such an advanced kind of flammable powder. It was something only a few powerful villages knew of.

She was truthful there. It really was a fancy new invention. Only Konoha, Cloud, and one more village, with a really bizarre name, were using it against their enemies. All of them used something different to make that powder catch fire, but they could never quite hide that smell. They let her off. The suppliers were attacked and killed and no one that connected her to such a treacherous act was left alive. He did not intervene. Their matters were none of his concern. He just focused on his own task even though she amused him to no end.

Itachi had tried to read her thoughts with a regular Sharingan Genjutsu a few times, but it proved to be such a futile attempt to breach the barrier upon her mind. The layer of chakra there was thick and strong. It would be impossible to make a hole in it with the seal in place. All it did was repair the damage to the barrier caused by needless intrusions. It was simple but so effective that he was left with no choice but to resort to Tsukuyomi.

But it was too soon to use it. She would die so miserably and so easily. He had to wait for this childish game to end. If all of it fell apart, then he could still leave with a scroll in hand and use a Genjutsu upon someone else and end her life in a simple manner, making it look like poetic justice. It would be easy to become a part of this pretend-play with her, but if she was looking for an alliance, then she was no more than a silly _little_ girl.

His ears wriggled like a fox's when he heard soft, dainty steps approach his room, and then a knock came upon the door. He did not have to see with his Sharingan to know who it was—the smell of her was enough to announce her arrival. "Come in," he said and looked at her as she steadied a small tray in her hand to step in through the door. She closed it as softly as she had opened it.

Kikyo turned around fully, moving her free hand to grab the tray from the other end. She wore such expensive kimonos: it was a red one tonight, and the roses upon it looked redder in the shadows. She was not wearing any makeup on her cheeks and around her clever eyes—just the lips were painted red with the juice of the forest berries.

She breathed in once, and the shadows danced on the exposed skin of her white bosom. "I thought you needed a little medicine, Itachi-Sama. You're so aloof that you didn't even tell me you were ill," she said, and her face was lit up with a soft smile.

Itachi did not say anything. She walked around the futon and sat down next to it, not daring to climb up and sit next to him lest he might stop her. She bent forward and put the tray on the futon. He looked at it once and then steered his gaze to the open door again.

"There really was no need for this," he said and looked at the small cup once more. "I have already taken a few herbs. The fever came down. You should retire to your room. We have a long journey to the next village tomorrow."

Kikyo bent her head down a little. Her long, beautiful hair scattered about her shoulders and her sharp, girlish features were cast in shadows and she gazed at him from under the fringe of her lashes. "You shouldn't worry about me, Itachi-Sama. It would be so terrible if you fell ill. Who would look for those awful bandits? I'm but a fragile woman who needs you. They killed so many when the moon was waxing only two days ago. It would be so unfortunate if your Hokage felt like she put her trust in a wrong man. Even I would feel . . . distraught," she said and pulled her red lips in a lecherous and twinkling smile.

Itachi cast her one last cold appraising look and picked up the small cup from the tray. A few small dry leaves floated on the surface of a greenish liquid, and a soft smell crept up his nostrils. He brought the cup to his lips and stopped for a second to breathe in the smell again, and then he took one sip. It was a little bitter, but when he took another one, it felt warm in his belly.

She emitted a little laugh that rippled through her, her cheeks reddening with amusement. "Itachi-Sama," she spoke as if she was taken aback, "I would never poison you. Your Hokage's sent you here. Killing you would mean the end of my whole Clan, but even you know this, don't you?" Her eyebrows scrunched, and she wet her lips as though she was thirsty and took in a single deep breath before she climbed the futon to sit a safe distance away from him.

He gulped down the whole thing and put the cup on the small set of drawers by the futon. His eyes returned to her face and a sudden mischievous look came over her young features. She really was in a mood to play. "You really should leave," he said with a heavy sigh and pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged, "if someone from your clan saw you emerging from my room, it would shame you. I am thankful that you brought this, but there is no reason for you to be here any longer. It is cold in the room, and I would prefer if it stayed that way."

"Then shall I close the door to the garden?" she asked in such a lustful manner. A chuckle broke from her lips and it became a rich, seductive laugh and the sound of it was decadent.

He was silent. It was futile to argue now. She came here with a purpose. It was best to play with her in her silly game. Kikyo pushed the tray off the futon, and the small cup there clattered to the floor, spilling whatever was in it on the polished wood. She drew closer and closer, as if she wanted to snuggle up to his breast, till she sat close enough, and when she breathed, he felt her breath slide hotly against the skin of his shoulder. It was warm, and it roused just a bit of his male lust.

She touched the scar there, and he chose not to tear his eyes away from the falling snow. The chill of it was real and raw on his body. He did not want to shuffle off that sensation too soon. "I just desire your agreement, your strength, and you as well. It isn't a sin. I shall prove myself worthy for you," Kikyo whispered and her breaths were feathers burning sweetly on that unyielding and frosty skin, "let me motivate you . . . " She hesitated for just a moment and leant into him.

Then she stretched her neck, and he felt her red lips there on the smooth slope of his throat, and she marked that unmarked skin with the colour of berries. Her lips throbbed softly there and an irritating current of unwanted desire painfully and tortuously moved down his spine to rouse his genitals, but still his eyes did not leave the snow. It was cold and its breeze was cooling that blood in his veins.

Haze came over Itachi's eyes, and they fluttered in protest. A feeling of calm engulfed him, and he wanted to lie back down and fall asleep. He straightened his spine in a stubborn attempt to sit upright, but his head bent down, and he put his hand down on the futon to keep his balance and control.

"It's just a mild sleeping draught. I didn't drug you, Itachi-Sama. I wouldn't dare do such a rude thing," Kikyo whispered close to his neck, and her voice slid over him the way an evil wind did in a graveyard. It really did not matter anymore. It was wise to let her do as she pleased. If he let her indulge herself, and if it meant that it would become easier for him to draw that secret out from her, then so be it.

He felt her hand slide against his back, and she lowered her head, her lips so eager, warm, vulgar upon his breast. He never liked this much intimacy. Lust was an annoyance. It came to him often, and he confronted it with ease, with all the will his young body could manage: every ounce of it, every last drop of it; and he would let it burn like a dull ache till it would become impossible to control his need any longer.

It was easy to hire a Tayū to pacify his primal urges. They were skilled. There were no kisses and timid touches of lovers in their quarters. It was raw, real, and easy . . . free from the silly social ideas of passions and foolishness of dazed lovers. He would just stay there for one night, spend himself, and free his body of that natural urge and leave. It was uncomplicated. It was easy. It never bothered him, and all he had to do was wait—wait for that feeling (a familiar itch) to return, and he repeated it all over again.

Sex for him was always the same. It was hot, primal, and urgent. It lightened his spirits, his burdens just a little. If the woman was beautiful, he was, perhaps, slightly motivated to explore her a little; but it was never anything sensual and soft. He was so used to warm pants and obscene displays of eagerly spread white thighs damp with anticipation that any other tale was always foreign to his senses.

Itachi did not understand why she was so desperate to please him. It was odd and absurd, but he stayed quiet and let her play. Kikyo was like this excited child who had just discovered a doll hidden in a gift. Her feeble-minded pursuit of him was almost pitiful. It did not matter—none of it mattered. Her fate was in his hands. What good would come out of rejecting such a free flavour of need and lust? Nothing good.

He felt her hand brush his thigh and the front of his pants, and her desire to touch him there almost made him smile. The child was so foolish. Kikyo lowered her head and bit his nipple hard. The marks of her teeth showed pink against the white skin there. She was just so . . . odd. She lowered herself still more, and he felt her breath against the navel and the puff of male hair above his genitals.

She freed him and turned her head to look up into his eyes; the light from the fire glowed on her skin that she almost looked lovely. She parted her pink lips on a pant and spoke in an eager voice: "it's still so distant and cold like you. Shall I rouse it for I desire to enjoy you, too?" She sat up straight for a moment and pulled at her kimono collar, and it slipped down her shoulders. Her breasts were round and her nipples, pale pink and hard.

His Sharingan could see the leaps of Kikyo's wild, lusty heart and the shallow and tiny hitch of her breath that made the sweat roll down from between her breasts. She moved forward and bowed her face into his lap. Then she so eagerly took him into her mouth and hot, searing pleasure streaked through him against his will. Her lovely spine arched and moved like a slick little fish below the smooth surface of water; that was the only thing he could compare her beaded white back with. And he felt himself growing and hardening to full length, squeezing into her throat.

Itachi was not surprised when she did not jerk away or pull back. She had done this before and killed many of her unwary and foolish lovers in the past. She dangled herself before them, took their lands in return for her Clan's services, and poisoned them. It was strange to see her like this . . . eagerly drawing him into her mouth over and over again with a slow and soft rhythm.

He had an urge to sink his fingers into the silky strands, hold her there, and relieve himself of this unwanted burden, but that would have been so unsavoury and rude. Heat gathered in his stomach, his thighs slightly trembled, and he felt himself inch closer to a release he so craved now—but she did not allow him that. She slipped her soft mouth off him and undid the obi around her waist, throwing it aside. Pulling at her kimono, she revealed her milk-white thighs to him, dampened with arousal.

It was so unwise to go this far with her. If she stopped, he would not coax her into this now; it was too soon to claim her in such a manner, but it did not seem like she cared. The desire for his favour was so strong in her that she grabbed his arms and pulled him down to lay on top of her. He did not resist, but he noticed that she was a lot stronger than she looked. There was chakra on her delicate hands, and it added so much strength to her gestures. He did not think he would have been able to fight her if he was even slightly more lightheaded.

In the fullness of the light from the fire, he gazed upon the unadorned flesh of the woman beneath him: blood had darkened in her face, and her lips were like the colour of rich sake, red and soft. She brushed her fingers against his lips and reached down between them and took a firm grip on his arousal. She was unabashed, bold, and obscene in the way she behaved with a complete stranger. What was so peculiar about that scroll?

Itachi lowered his eyes just a bit and then looked back at her again. "You are hasty, and you have not gone near anyone in this manner before. The act will only cause you pain," he rasped coldly, his expression blank. His control was always rigid, absolute.

"You worry for no reason, Itachi-Sama," she said, narrowing her dark eyes into tiny threatening slits, "it's _my_ blood you will spill. I lie beneath you out of my own free will. Consider it . . . a gift for this cold night, and my desire for pleasure I wish to feel with you inside myself. Do this with me. I want to throw away the lust for you that clings on. It just makes me ache and makes me weak and I hate being weak." Her face was warped, and she looked somewhere between angry and lustful. Her pliant body was tense, shivering.

Itachi considered her for a moment and the heat rising in torrents under her skin and touched the inside of her thigh. She was damp there. It was her decision, and with that fleeting thought, he pushed deep inside of her tight core; and she bled, losing that long-held innocence to him in moments of nothing but wanton, human desire. Her soft expression changed just a little as a look of pain came to her face, but she did not look away. Her face trembled and warm tears rose to her eyes, and she gritted her teeth together, muscles locked.

Then Kikyo suddenly lost that battle to stay calm as she pressed a hand over her trembling lips to hold in the coming sob. She screwed her eyes shut, and her neck arched, exposing her skin where the veins throbbed with pain and pleasure. And she sobbed still more like a punished little babe, her breaths unsteady and fast. It burnt and it hurt.

He pulled back and plunged in again, and this time, her eyes flew open. A surprised, wordless cry came from her throat. She was so incredibly tight. Hot. Slick and soft. He bowed his head, braced himself on his elbows, and set a rhythm, hard and deliberate and slow; and she squeezed him tight and drew him close to plant a kiss to his jaw.

Oh, it was so wanton the way she moaned. Her eyes closed, and her mouth opened wide to let out hot, heavy breaths that hit his tingling neck, becoming a new sensation that spun and whirled his blood like a tempest. He did not want to erupt inside her, so he reached between them and lightly brushed his fingers against the swollen bud just throbbing above where they connected; and she grew tighter, impossibly tighter, and the musky female scent of her skin and arousal filled the air.

Kikyo just lay there, breathing heavily, her soft skin trembling with pleasure. The coil was unfurled. Her eyes fluttered open, and they were steeped in the kind of hunger he thought he had just sated. In these moments, he had controlled himself. The breeze from the garden was ice on his sweaty back, and he was softening inside her. She got what she desired: there was no need to indulge in this foolish play any longer.

Itachi moved to pull out, and he suddenly found himself flat on his back. He was still joined with her, and she pulled her lips in a pretty smile. Kikyo removed the kimono and threw it aside. She had such pretty black curls between her legs, and she moved her hand up, pulling a pin out from a bun on her head, and long wavy hair tumbled down her fair back and upon her white shoulders. He caught a glimpse of perspiration clinging to the wispy black hair under her lovely arms.

"I so desire to look down upon your beautiful face in this way," she said and licked at the sharp pin shining in the light of the fire. Then she bent down after letting out a bell-like laugh to whisper in his ear: "how would you like for me to squeeze you till it flows?"

Kikyo hissed in a soft breath, her head tipping back, her thighs trembling with a primal want . . . and she moved. She rode him with such a wild urgency that an unsteady breath slipped from his lips. The flesh around her waist was red like in a glare of strong light—that fire playing beautiful, sinister shadows across the planes of her body.

She moved her hands up and twisted the beaded tight crests of her nipples, squeezing the breasts playfully—that pin clamped tightly between her lips, her thrusts hard and deliberate. There was such wild, unbridled strength in the way she squeezed him when she bent down, the pin falling from her soft mouth, teeth scraping along the hollow of his throat.

"I'm so well-pleased," she hissed, backing away and shuddering, "I'm so—well-pleased—" And her fine back curved like a cat's flexible spine, and she planted both of her hands upon his breast. Her head dropped forward, and the pin in that other bun fell out. It unfurled, and the hair fell down in a cascade upon her shoulder. And her thrusts were shallow, and then they were frantic that he touched her knees with just the tip of his fingers as though he was urging her to be gentle. His body moved with her thrusts, his muscles straining with a hot sensation of complete abandonment and a deep pleasure that rattled him in a way that he would never have desired otherwise in moments of self-satisfying control.

Kikyo felt the fierceness of his rapid heartbeat through her palms, and she peered at that Sharingan, defeated before his wants, through thick lust and lush hair with such curiosity. His skin so shivered with something he could not control, and a soft pink colour flooded his neck and cheeks. He closed his eyes and took slow and deep breaths that could not calm his heart.

She bowed deeply as if in prayer and that lovely body formed an arc. Then she nipped at the skin on his collarbone so painfully that he hissed—skin broke and red invaded white. He did not understand what came over her as she pushed the pin into the deep hollow between his collarbones, and it deepened still more when he sucked in the air deeply and felt warm trickles of blood trail down the side of his neck. Fearsome threads of pain and pleasure blent and went through his nerve endings, racing down his spine to his genitals that he pulsed inside of her. He suddenly felt so heady and so dizzy . . .

She kissed him some more and sobbed and panted against his breast, stabbing his torso and the skin under his navel with the pin over and over again that the skin there had been left so red. Blood oozed out of the tiny wounds and shivered down his body in thin lines. His skin was too white, and the colours did not blend. The red was harsh and raw against the white: it looked obscene in this warm winter's night and the faint glow of the dying fire. It was still snowing, and the garden looked beautiful behind her.

And Kikyo just . . . laughed, sitting erect now, grounding her hips sensuously into him. Her arms reached to her back, and she clasped her fingers together there, thrusting her bosom out, and spreading her thighs as wide as she could that he could see a thin trail of mucus cling to her flushed skin. She thrust harder and harder and something in his stomach finally uncoiled, and he erupted in her in long spurts. The gush of his arousal messily spread over his skin and her inner thighs, and she finally stopped the grinding motion of her hips after she rode through her climax, still pulsing around him.

Itachi's breaths _finally_ calmed, and then he looked at her and the mess she had made, and he found it so vulgar . . .

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	51. Of Brothers and Letters

**Chapter Fifty-One** : Of Brothers and Letters

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Walls draped in the colours of decadence, noises in the gloam, sky alight with the final lights of that day's sun—so red and so sweet. So . . . gloomy. He turned his weary eyes and looked upon the sky as a pallid light came in through the small window, barred with wooden slats nailed up tightly in such a clumsy manner—the only window in the large room. It was like the one in an old jail cell, visited so frequently by a haggard prisoner with a promise of hope and freedom. He did not like it at all.

So far away from home, his heart and mind were elsewhere. They wandered—one despondent and the other wondering, forever wondering. He stubbornly embraced the possibility that this would not end so soon. A half-irritated, half-contemptuous expression flickered on his face and those obedient eyes mirrored it so perfectly, tainting themselves with the colour of an easy passion that was an old habit to him now.

They tore open the rifts in the old walls beneath his feet, saw through the barriers, and the whole complex was filled with gloomy and bright colours—a warm canvas painted by his cold eyes. It was not the same. It really was not the same. A deep sigh moved his breast, and a flood of forceful memories and uncontrollable emotional surges came to his mind like a determined seductress with a phial of poison. He could not escape the visions of his past.

There, in the darkness, in the cast of moving shadows and a bit of lingering light, sat his father by a single lantern. It was old—the same one he had always used. He never understood why. It once had a bright red colour, but now the paper was worn out and old. The light that struggled to make it through was weak, almost dull.

His father's back was to the door, and he did not see him standing close to the small dresser by the paper-screen. It was rude to not make his presence known, but he was so curious, fascinated by his father: he was poisoning himself with a needle again. He really did not understand. He was just a small child who had seen, and with immature and pure eyes, the troubling changes of five seasons, only. It was autumn now and moths were abundant.

He put his uneasy fingers upon the frame of the door and his father heard him stir. He looked over his shoulder, his eyes red fires upon his face, eerie, but he did not look angry. There was this soft light, brighter than the lantern's, hovering over his eyes as his small body filled his vision, and a slow kind of warm smile crept over his lips like a sweet tremble.

It was as though . . . his sober eyes were beckoning him. There was such beautiful light in them, and it was a soft, disarming kind of light that touched his small heart and it raced in him. His small feet moved tentatively upon the tatami mat, his curious eyes locked to his and his small mouth curled with anticipation. He sat down beside him and Fugaku put a hand upon his head.

He told him then that this was the poison from the glands in the abdomen of the autumn's moth: it was similar to the Dufour's gland, only without the sting apparatus. It was like a little magic trick, and it only released toxins through fine hair when it mated. His father did not say it exactly like that. He had said words like, " _playing with pink moths around the purple lilies in the height of autumn_."

He said that the poison went deep into the pink moth's skin, attacking its organs, and it died a slow, agonizing death. It was his first time hearing something like that. How could a little drop of something be so deadly? He was nearly beside himself with curiosity—a child's curiosity. He had taken a few deep breaths to get control of his building excitement and looked intently at the moth that lay dissected on the small table. There was a clear cup of water sitting beside it and two sharp needles.

"It is easy to see well with Sharingan," he had said, "see, Itachi?" He did not have any Sharingan, but he leant his head forward and widened his eyes and then narrowed them to focus. He blinked and widened his eyes again to take in the light from that dull old lantern. He could _actually_ see the purple glands now! They were so small.

Fugaku told him that it was not wise to take poison from inside the glands. It was too potent. That even the pink moth was not subjected to something so cruel and lethal. The few drops that lingered around its glands were not that lethal to humans. They were filtered by the outer, fleshy layer. The real poison was somewhere beneath, and it had this dark purple colour just like the lilies.

And he had told him how the poison in the moth's body grew potent when it fed on the enzyme and chakra from the lilies. It was fascinating. His father poisoned himself to fight the poisons? It was like a kunai against kunai. The sharp one won in the end; it dulled the other's less sharp edge and corroded it.

But what surprised him the most was the confession: he had been taking it since he was but a six-year-old boy. He took a little twice a week. His powerful chakra fought the vile assailant in his system. It used to give him such fever, but he would overcome it, rising anew like someone immortal who had tasted something fleeting like the lingering fear of death, only to rise again as a new man, or a new child; over time, Fugaku had grown used to it. It was the other soul inside him that ran together with his blood.

Itachi did not know why he did it, but he did anyway. Was it curiosity? Thrill? He could not really say. It was such a long time ago. He caught one the next day, took it into his room, and did what his father had done: a little cup of clear water on the side, with two clean needles, and a cloth. He had a book of poisons open on the table. His cup was bigger than his father's and it had more water. It was there to dilute the poison.

He realized that the poison was more effective if it was directly injected into the bloodstream with a senbon or a kunai. He had put the finger to his lips, pondering. If that was the right way to do things, then so be it. So he pulled away the wings of the moth, and they floated down to the mat, and it just . . . writhed and writhed with an unseen agony as he cut open its soft abdomen right in the middle with the tip of the needle and held it down with his forefinger and thumb.

A sticky sort of purple goo seeped out, but Itachi did not need that. What he needed was the poison around the gland, or perhaps, within it? A strange, shuddering fear had shot straight through his heart. His father had said that it was too potent. He had seen the moth feeding upon the lily: those glands were engorged. Up close, they looked round and fleshy and shiny.

Itachi gulped. He was still just a small child—so young and curious; and he, with a heart bold, had cut the gland just a little. It expelled dark purple drops, and when he bent his head down to take a whiff of it, he was surprised that it smelt sweet . . . just like lilies, but a little different, too. He did not understand. What an odd little moth! He stared at its tiny, round, and glossy eyes as if he could see death in them. It was dead, growing stiff like a dry piece of wood upon the table.

He had to do it and he had to do it soon. His heart had decided. His mind had done it, too. So he pushed the needle deep into the gland, coating the tip with the tiniest of drops, and then he wound the cloth around his arm and watched as the veins swelled. Fear and excitement raced down his spine, but he had decided . . . he touched the surface of the water there in the cup, and then he pricked his skin with the tip of that needle. A strange chill had gone through his body—a deathly chill.

He had felt nothing at first, but as a tiny drop of blood came out of his flickering vein, and when he saw the water turn so purple there, he had known fear. _That much colour with just a little drop?_ That was the thought that had run through his mind like a slow knife. It was a hurting, lingering fear, the kind that goes into the heart and stays there, finds a home in its depths—a knife lodged deep in the chambers and the shuddering pain and fear always remained. Always . . .

At that moment, he had seen an unending darkness and sensed such pain and a soft feeling that whirled his blood in ways that he could not understand it then. He had fainted. He did not know when his father found him, but he was not angry. There was remorse and sadness in his eyes as he looked upon him, something he had never seen before as he lay on the bed, suffering from a terrible life-sapping ague that ached and burnt in his veins like something sinister . . . but delicious. So very delicious.

He could only see a longing in his father's eyes: a longing for peace, for the return of rosiness in his plump cheeks. There was a faint shine in his father's young eyes, and they, in that anguished state, were ghost-less mirrors of tears. There was a burning unease that pitted in his small belly, and he moaned and sighed in distress; and his father wore worry upon his face then. The little darling, his little darling, and how he wished to lift him from that cruel cradle.

The memory passed like the pain, like the pleasure that was too fleeting, too foreign for such a little body that had yet to know the aches of youth and the speed of passions. Now he stood by the set of drawers, a needle in his hand. His grip was firm and that hand trembled with uncertainty no more.

The moth was dead, a little dry husk on the wooden surface. He had caught it in a glass bottle days ago. The purple drop clung to the needle's tip almost desperately. There was no cup of water to dilute it; he had outgrown those safe practices in his childhood. There was such addiction in this private pleasure—such thrill, such an insidious kind of romance.

Looking intently at the small drop, his Sharingan whirled in his eyes and that familiar fast pace of his heart responded to his decision. It anticipated it with a sudden jab of dread and fear. It was restless. He could say that he was, too. The vein flickered and throbbed there—right there under the tip of the needle and its long and thin shadow. It was what it was—a sweet little habit.

Itachi jabbed the needle into the vein, and the sensation exploded inside him like a hot and searing wave of pain and pleasure. The shuddering spasm contracted the muscles of his white face. A red colour flooded his cheeks. Sweat beaded across his forehead and poured out of his body. His breaths came out quick and sharp, uneven and unnatural for a man of such unnatural control. The needle dropped from his hand, and he clasped hold of his other shuddering hand. He did not even hear the sound when it hit the floor.

The vein in his wrist had turned deep purple. That poison, travelling like a snake inside him, exciting him, hurting him, giving him such wondrous visions he was otherwise blind to. The lock was a twisting snake upon the door. He wanted to close it, secure it, and indulge in this pleasure to his heart's content, but it was too far for him to reach, and he stood on such weak legs now.

He stretched his hand slightly, but staggered like a clumsy toy and fell back supine on the bed behind him. Then his vision exploded into a tight ball of colours that would not blend. It was an odd, swirly kind of mixture that spun and spun, a pinwheel in the hand of a child standing in an unkind autumn wind. And those sounds . . . the sounds of sighs, laughter, and the murmurs of wind slid upon him and shuddered like soft veils he could _actually_ touch.

The pain was so immense, but so was the pleasure. It was unthinkable. It was as if he was being dismantled and made anew. Every sinew, every fibre, every bone in his body vibrated in rhythm with their perverse machinations. It was a body wrought by such a tainted soul now. Perhaps it always was.

And his mind found its right pace for his condition: a chaotic scene of so many memories, an ink-blot that was the world. And then it spread and the mental template became a vast canvas of unending designs and colours. A shattered glass that broke into new pieces as the light from his eyes passed through their broken edges and became something more than a thing hardly worthy of more than a fleeting glance. It became his world!

Ah, such a mundane little world: the swirling fabrics, the delirious panting, and the sheen of the hot flesh that trembled with the want that was always a familiar kind of habit. That perfect rhythm that twisted the limbs and made the muscles throb their protests, a lingering scent permeated by sandalwood and lilies and poisons and incense.

And his vision could see the rabble of moths and their fluttering little wings like vibrations upon the air. Hands wandering the bodies. Thighs parted and the vulgar show of flesh and bodies. The careful spills. The hot sensation of such a delicious kind of abandonment that his body fired up like a burning flame spewed forth from the lips. It broke him, consumed him, and left him wanting, gasping for breaths. That perfect desire. That perfect abandonment . . . that perfect ache.

He saw nothing but the endless oceans and their endless, roaring waves; and they crashed and crashed upon him and the water smothered him. But it was painful. But it was also sweet. What kind of lovely paradox was this? His clever mind was left in a mess, and he was but a helpless child bereft of reason and logic. And he cast such a delicate little net to catch such delicate little things.

And then his eyes wandered a little to the door. The tricks, moonlight, and the cracks and the rowdy crowd . . . the usual things—little things he did not want. And he cast that net again with a little piece of thought as his shuddering breaths tore from his spasming throat. His skin ached and the poison burnt in his veins like stabs from heated swords that had yet to be given a temper.

A red taint issued from the walls, and he raised his hand and touched it and it rippled deliciously—a throbbing slit of a harlot; a wound in the heart, red and raw, wet and sweet; a warning from his Sharingan. His teeth began to vibrate, and he burnt with a hot fever of lust. His body was a crucible, and his soul, a wanting and wispy mirage, that so filled that container and an arch formed in his back. If she came to him now, he knew he would not be able to resist her. He knew he would have to snuff out the raging fire burning in his skin, the fire of that lovely poison he always put out in the company of Tayūs'.

It was _just_ a little game, and he loved to play it. But this time, there was a new net and new memories. And then his sad little heart ached like that of an innocent babe's, and he felt a veil form upon his eyes. Control. Control. Control. But there was so little of it now. There was this smell of sandalwood and lilies in the air and the fleeting aroma of that old lantern. The smell would not lift and then bits of his soul and mind were like children: bored of one task and set to the other. It was hopeless to catch and scold them. The little misfits. _Leave them to their devices_ , he stubbornly thought. It was a private place—his place.

The red strain on the walls turned grim, and he looked into the eyes of a child, cradling that small face in his palms. It was the face of his father, his mother . . . and then it was his own; but the innocent bundle of bones and muscles changed still more, and it was Sasuke. The motions of lust were impeded in those moments, and all that was left was emptiness and sadness and loneliness in the eyes of his mother, his father, and his little Sasuke, his little darling—a little bud shaking and in peril in the new wind.

His lips began to tremble, and he did not know when it hitched his breath a little, and he put that palm upon his eyes, shielding them from the world. Everything was the dark flames of his Clan's eyes, hurting and burning little pieces of his soul. Then there was such ache stabbed into his heart, his father's heart. It was a different ache; and fear and love and sadness fell from the wound torn agape by his own hands, the clumsy mechanisms of his sad, little, unhinged mind.

Itachi, Fugaku's darling, the little babe in the cradle of his arms, lost somewhere in the depths of dishonour and fears, drowning like the man gasping for the surface. But he was a babe no longer. So much was lost . . . so much. The feeling went away and so did the sounds, and his heart became a lonely sepulchre. He woke up to the room steeped in silence. A dark veil lay upon the sky and wind was cool. It was night and the sun was gone. Another night. Another time.

A sound came from the door and he listened. He was needed for the theatrical show in the hall. How foolish were these frivolities? He sat up, feeling his limbs ache and burn. It would pass. It always did. He took off his sweaty shirt and grabbed another one. His Anbu jacket had to be worn, too. It was an official business—a serious business.

When Itachi left the room and climbed down the stairs, the crowd had subsided into silence. The room was large and Kiyo had reserved a place for him upon the cushion beside her. There was a smile in her eyes and red paint on her lips. It was a different kind of conquering and leering smile. Shadows danced across her white bosom and her face that was still painted in a customary show of a deft actress.

He was silent. He said no words and none captured his tongue enough to make him slip. He walked, and then he sat down beside her. It was a show of dancers. They swayed and sighed. Prostitutes. They were there to name their price behind the sensuous and vulgar movements of their limbs and back. They cringed on the floor there and bowed down, arching their backs. Then they raised their heads and rumps into the lordosis posture as though they desired to be mounted upon the stage.

A few murmurs rose from the men sitting on his right. One of the overly-dressed, fat one had his eyes set upon the one wearing a red kimono. What had she set her gaze to? He could not say. Kikyo let out a girlish and sweet laugh beside him, fluttering her fan like she was in heat; but, at that moment, something so peculiar happened. His eyes went to a man bowing to Kikyo from across the room.

She whispered to him that he was a man working for her. But his chakra . . . it had such a quick pattern—the kind his brother had. And he slightly bent his head down and hid his face in the shadows. His eyes turned so red, and he felt the smile touch his eyes and it was a cold smile. Control. Control. Control. He had all of it now.

# # # # # #

It was another night—another day was gone. The accursed crow. He hated the thought of being a little insect under its beak. It had pecked the freedom out of him, poked it out, and the innards of the last bits of his patience were falling out. It was a hopeless struggle. Why would it not disappear? The air sighed, a needy little thing that wanted the warmth of the sun. Well, it was gone!

The walk home was a lonely one. Naruto had not come by. Was he ill? He was sure that the seal would hold, but Karin had made no such promises. Sakura . . . it had to be her. She had to be the snake devouring him. She had always been an obsessed little thing. Reason was beyond her. She was so foolish. He had little desire to taint his hands with another murder, but if she was involved in the designs of his demise, then it was just justice to pay her back.

Sasuke cared little for her lust and desires. He was not obliged to indulge her. Her mentor . . . she always made it seem as though it was some kind of a moral dilemma to save himself from her insanity. How she looked at him wrong as if he was a kind of madman who stayed cooped up in his home, playing with forbidden Kinjutsus at the cost of so many lives. Her accusations were subtle, but absurd.

It was just another problem, another issue for him to bury. The thrill of child's play was gone: it was serious and deadly now. He never thought it would be so tough as he struggled day and night to fell his enemies, cut off greedy snakes sitting in his sleeves, like a gangrenous foot. The air was cold, but it felt fetid and hot. The wind held the tiny voices of his schemes. They were his little children—babes with their own minds—but he had disciplined them. He was too stubborn to allow them such an easy chance to play.

The sounds of the chimes upon the door and the whistling that escaped the mouth of the well drew him there. It was the same old path and the same old manor. Everything was the same: the cold and detached demeanour of his brother that lingered there, and the empty room of his parents. Gone. Just like that. Life was so fragile. He breathed in deeply and stepped into the house. The crow cawed behind the door, but he fastened the latch on the door. He really did not care for its prying nature.

He took off his sandals and made his way to his own room. Sleep beckoned him. He had only made it halfway down the corridor when Rao spoke: "Sasuke, is that you?"

He turned around and stepped into the sitting area. She sat there with her back stooped, eyes shining in the light like pearls, and a smile was on her aged face. "Obā-San, you still haven't gone to bed?" he asked, looking at her curiously. "Nii-Sama will be angry with me if he hears that I kept you awake. I told Tanaka to tell you that I would be eating in the hall. I hope you aren't hungry. Did he give you dinner?"

"Concerned about me, are you?" she asked and let out a little laugh. Sasuke did not say anything, and despite himself, he smiled.

"Come here, put your head in my lap, and tell me what you did today," she said and tapped her hand lightly on her thigh.

He quietly made his way around the table and sat down. Then he stretched his legs out, pressed his back to the mat-covered floor, and put his head on her lap. Rao moved her fingers through his hair, and he just told her all the mundane things he did today. How one of the foolish new ninjas in his team nearly blew up one of the trainee dogs of Inuzuka Clan, and the grave injuries of one of his new Medics. How the weather was a bit cold today. And how much he resented Itachi's unfair treatment of him. But he kept the secrets. He said no more than it was necessary. It was easy to make her happy. She was an old woman with an older heart.

She bent her head down and placed kisses upon his cheeks, forehead, and lips. He felt that she always treated him like a little child. The little matter of tales was done. He said his goodbyes and led her to her room. She patted his head affectionately and went to sleep. He, too, made it to his room again. When he opened the door, the fire was lit and the room was warm, and there on the table was another scroll-letter. He could tell it was from his brother.

Sasuke closed the door and sat down and stretched his feet to the fire. Then, even though he did not want to, he picked up the scroll from the table. He unrolled it and ran his eyes down the words.

Sasuke,

In this time of biting cold, I wonder if your heart is in the right place . . .

Things are not always what they seem. Truths are elusive. You do not see things the way I do. It makes us different. But it does not make you and me wrong. Otō-Sama was the same. He was different than I. I was to him, what you are to me: someone who is my own, but is so different from the way I imagine things to be.

Is it wrong to be so different when I, the older one, have to be wiser, as well? Perhaps. I do not know. There are so many things I do not know. Your brother is not as perfect as you believe him to be. I, too, am a man of faults. What ails you? It might be strange to ask of you to pour your heart out to me. We all have our secrets: the little things we do not choose to share. I have them, too. I will never be so rude and unkind to ask of you to bear such a burden.

But you can still tell me of the things that anger you and give you grief. You thought of him as someone who was cold to you, but that was not true. He was not a very expressive man. He hid his emotions. It was a sign of strength. It still is in our Clan. We exhibit our emotions through our visions. It was the way of things. I may . . . question this notion, but I will not change it. For your sake . . .

Wars and the burden of our Clan had made him hard. He was kind to you in his own way. The death of his brothers before you came into this world had made him seem so uncaring. I saw such light in his eyes when he saw you the first time. He was happy. There was a smile upon those unyielding lips.

When you used to lie down in the sitting room, he would stroke your hair and you would stir, thinking that it was me, or perhaps, Okā-San—a callous hand that knew love. The clumsiness of fatherhood and tenderness even . . . that was all there was in those gestures. He did not know how to be so forthcoming. It was not in his nature.

There are many things that are not a part of my nature, as well—many things that are not a part of yours. We are different. But you are still my brother, and I will always care for you. Differences should never come between families. It destroys them. I have seen it with my own eyes. When I come back, I want you to tell me what you desire, and I shall try to be someone you desire me to become.

I do not want you to slink away into darkness with grief in your heart. Share your burdens so that it may lighten your spirits. I am offering this to you when this was something that was never offered to me . . .

Take care of yourself and of your health. Autumn can be so cold and cruel.

Itachi.

The letter ended. There was nothing more to read. He tossed it into the fire. The scroll burnt, and then it was no more than a few wispy ashes in the fireplace. Itachi's words hurt him. After all these years, why was he telling him of this now? He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. His brother was _such_ a liar . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : The poison of the 'wandering spider' gives men a glorious (and very painful) erection for several hours. Its bite is quite painful as well. Albeit not the same thing that happened in this chapter, I still thought it was necessary to inform my readers that there is some truth in that scene.

Also, I don't like using italics unless it doesn't become absolutely necessary. I believe you can tell where the letter starts and ends. I only use italics for a paragraph or two. Anything more just makes my eyes hurt.

 **Words** : 5,025

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	52. A Grave Illness

**Chapter Fifty-Two** : A Grave Illness

 **AN** : In Japan, children sleep between their parents (in traditional families). It's an enactment of the _**River**_ character in the Japanese Language.

 **Canon-Manga Info** : I'm not a part of this rivalry between Hinata and Sakura fans nor do I care for it. I'll only show what the canon exhibits, and Sakura is a far stronger, faster, resilient, and an intelligent shinobi compared to Hinata. The latter has no strategic, invention, or analyses feats when the former has plenty. Give the credit where it's due and don't let likeness or dislikeness for a character cloud your objectivity. In fact, early Shippūden Sakura (the one that took part in the bell-test with Naruto against Kakashi) absolutely pulverizes any version of Hinata. Mind you, she has Hamura's blood, not his chakra; so this goddess version of Hinata doesn't exist in any known canon universe. Her performance against Toneri's puppets proves so. If she had it, then she would have easily taken on Momoshiki or Kinshiki or done something to aid her husband. Instead, she got knocked out off-screen (in _Boruto: The Movie_ ) and was healed by Sakura without contributing anything to the rescue of her husband or any civilians.

That's not to say that Hinata is completely talentless as her marginal mastery over the ' _Lion Fists_ ' shows that she's somewhat decent given that it requires good chakra control to master; however, there are tiers in the manga and Sakura simply surpasses her on every front. Despite being from the Head family, and training with a rare prodigy like Neji, she barely performed ' _sixty-four palms_ ' unsuccessfully on a Jūbi clone (it was still getting up, and she had to activate her ' _Twin Lion Fists_ ') and still didn't know ' _One Body Blow_ ' and ' _Kaiten_ '. And many years later, she still doesn't; Neji was never taught these as he's from the Branch family: he learnt them by simply listening to the Head branch members. Thus, keep everything in mind as I'm only showing Hinata's development and struggles as a Shinobi (Naruto's to an extent, too). The rest have been knocked down several pegs to keep this a balanced affair, which includes Sakura.

# # # # # #

The night was such a young mistress: the kind that sighed and moaned sweetly between the soiled sheets but denied the wanting man any company. It was cold today. A frosty wind was blowing in from the north. It would take time for the cold fronts to envelop Konoha's skies and change the weather there. But winter was almost here. Autumn was nearly done. Its designs had vanished, and they had left a lingering life behind in their wake and a few graves. Winter would complete that happy reaping with cold abandon.

When the sun deserted the sky at night, it became so cold and windy. The early snow threatened his health. He was already a little fragile. His fever was in control, but it was not like his body had been given a chance to heal. The crows had really wrung out the last bits of his patience from him. This task was nothing more than an annoyance now.

The official letters from Tsunade were pointless: her succinct replies said little to soothe his worries. She stated that the matters were fine there. But, somehow, he felt as though she was lying. It did not feel right. A small fear had gone into his heart, and it beat with an unusual alarm every day, every hour, every second. It was a kind of paranoia he had not felt in a long time. Sasuke . . .

He had left the wild child behind, left his watchful eyes behind his back to keep him out of trouble, but he knew it was not enough. Had he been given some time, he would have taken Sasuke with him to another city in the Fire Country for a few months. He had not taken a good long leave in so long. It would have been enough to take the child's mind off this deadly game he had so willingly and happily become a part of.

He just needed a little time to be kind to Sasuke, let him know that he was not alone and that he did not need to fight an unwinnable battle . . . as nothing he would do would undo the past. It was done. It was over. And he knew that, in the end, Truth would only cause his wild, unyielding, fiery heart more grief; it was still a child's pure heart that elated with an innocent vanity of winning games and grew resentful at losing them. Yes, he was still _just_ a child—a pure child.

As a child, he would weep and weep, and he did not know what to do then. The empty room of their parents terrified him. He used to sleep between them often, clinging to Mikoto's breast in those stormy nights. His forays into his room were always the playfulness of a child, but when they were gone, he thought it was necessary for Sasuke to sleep beside him. His new eyes became such a terrible burden for them both . . .

A deep sigh came from his breast, and he closed his eyes. Something in his mind expanded like the sky, and there, upon that black and bleak horizon, paranoia and omens met in an eerie way. An ineradicable seed of fear was sown in his heart, and he felt a tiny bud dig its way out of that soggy soil, frantically. It was just a bud—a young bud. There was no need for it to flourish. He could cut off its head with a cruel sickle and give it a premature death and then he would rest easy. Sleep easy.

The night bird that was singing a song somewhere in the forest had fallen silent. It was so quiet now. The quiet burrowed into his ears that now he could hear a ringing-like low-pitched sound: he had damaged some of his nerve hairs in his ear; a paper-bomb went off near him when he was on a mission in his childhood. The medics healed the superficial damage, but by the time he noticed it, his entire auditory cortex had embraced this new pattern.

It was irksome. He always needed a white-noise to make him sleep. It was strange. He loved and craved silence and quiet, and yet, they had become his worst enemies. He always had the company of a soft sound to put his mind at ease: the soft breathing of a child, drumming sounds of rains, the stream outside his room, lovely songs from Mikoto's lips, the hot panting of a woman's breath . . .

A soft, ghostly smile rose to his lips as he stood in wait by the window for another song. The song rose into the air and came to him again, and he was soothed. It was a delightful feeling of peace after the rattle of an unseen force. Kikyo laughed by his side, and he turned his eyes to look at her face: it was not painted as carefully as she usually did—it was painted like the face she wore in that warm winter's night.

She turned her face and it came into moon's weak light—cheeks flushed hot, with lips curled, and lusty eyes. A gleam of the blade's shine flickered behind her back. A sword-stand was set close to the wall. It was made to hold three good swords, but he could only see one. Her men had probably taken the rest.

She looked at him intently, staring into his cold eyes as though she could actually see his scattered thoughts and spoke as sweetly as she always did: "what's made you smile so softly? I've never gazed upon such a smile on your lips."

He looked at her for a brief moment, a sudden red shine flickering from his eyes. "Why did you not investigate the slaughter of your men at the hands of those bandits close to Konoha?" he asked, and she turned her face towards the darkness, and it closed down on her face and bosom. The contours of her features were cast in shadows.

"So unfair, Itachi-Sama," she said and put her hand delicately to her bosom, "you ask for so many things for such a little request. I just wanted to know what made you happy." And then she was smiling that bold smile of hers.

"It is not a matter of fairness but a matter of principle," he said in a cold, cold voice and turned his head to look outside the open window again. This outpost sat atop a cliff. It was held there by seals, good woodwork, and a lot of miracles. If he was honest with himself, then the thought of it sliding down the cliff to get smashed upon the rocks gave him three uneasy nights.

Itachi heard her breathe deeply, and then she stepped closer. "You still don't trust me?" Kikyo asked in a sad voice he knew to be fake, and he turned his eyes slightly to bore his gaze into hers. She stepped closer still, and her body warmed. His Sharingan saw it all: the speed of hot blood as it moved through her veins like water in the thirsty, shivering boughs of a dry tree.

He chose silence, and his eyes went back to the forest and the shadows that slithered there around the trees, under the cliffs, and in the black and waveless waters of the lake. His ears wriggled, and a new sound mingled with the hum of the night birds and insects deep in the forest. It was a sound of steps.

A knock came upon the door. He turned around and spoke, "come in, Karin."

She stepped a little daintily into the room, barefooted like him. The wood was polished and clean, and her feet squeaked as she stopped by the fireplace. It was burning brightly. Cool shadows lay upon half of her face and the other half was illuminated by fire, her hair fire-struck and bright in the light of the flames.

"The bandits got away," she spoke and took in a deep breath, "they were probably tipped off by someone. I think they erased their chakra. They know I'm a Sensor." Her gaze wandered from a faintly sly look on Itachi's face to Kikyo's smiling eyes.

"Those troublesome bandits," he said, sounding almost amused, "they always are ahead of the game. They should be hired by the military as they are making complete fools out of an Anbu Captain, two Kages, and their Intelligence Divisions. Alas, the villages can be so inflexible."

"Itachi-Sama, I believe we should—"

"You should use your Sensing to get them first in the mountains," Kikyo cut her off, hiding her face behind another red fan—she appeared to have a great stash of those. "My men have told me that they might be hiding close to Rain this time."

"I don't take orders from you, woman," she said harshly, and her pink mouth vanished into a razor line. Kikyo let out a pleasant laugh, but she said nothing.

"Tell Serizawa to get the scrolls. We leave in fifteen minutes," he said and watched as she bowed low and left the room in silence after she pierced Kikyo with a fierce glare.

"Feisty, isn't she?" she asked, but it came out more like a cold accusation. "Did you take her to bed, Itachi-Sama?"

"Good grief, no," he said tersely and there was no shade of humour on his features. He turned around and began to look at the forest again. A look of irritation came to her face, but she quickly overpowered it.

"I was just thinking that it's her that makes you happy here, sometimes," she spoke, and her usually sweet voice was still laced with accusation. "You must love someone. We all do . . . " and she spoke in a sweeter whisper this time. Her hand reached out to the bare tip of his shoulder, and she traced the path of warm blood in his vein with her finger, feeling the healed wound there.

"Tell me," she spoke in the softest and sweetest voice and slipped her fingers beneath the black glove and pulled it down. Then she pressed her lips to the skin above his elbow, waiting for some reaction, but still he did not stir and she decided to speak again—more softly and more sweetly this time: "who makes you happy? Is it the memories of your dead parents? I've heard that they were killed so gruesomely. A belief that drives you? A woman who warms you? Or is it your brother? His smiles, his laughs, just the sight of him that soothes you? Tell me, Itachi-Sama? You must love someone."

Kikyo tilted her head, and her eyes traced the lines of his features cast in such a fine mould, bathed in the whitest shafts of moonlight. His face was without an emotion—it did not seem as though he felt anything for anyone. Even his eyes, veiled by long lashes, did not have any emotion in them—just an empty colour filled their depths. There was nothing there but a deep colour of an empty passion, and it made her shiver. He was a stone, and when she drew closer and pressed her breasts against his arm, he turned his face to look back at her.

"What are you doing? I do not have _time_ to play with you today," he said coldly and the glassy sheen of his red eyes filled with danger and anger that did not disturb the rest of his face.

Kikyo drew back quickly as though he was a flame that had just burnt her skin raw, but she grabbed hold of his hand and placed his glove and her fan upon the table by the window. "Your mind and body, a meld of perfection, yet your heart's so black and so cold," she said in a voice as if she was sad and hurt. Then she brought his fingers to her lips and took one into her mouth and bit its tip playfully, scraping it lightly with her teeth.

"I did not allow you to come into my chamber for I had a desire to dandle a child tonight," he spoke and still he sounded so distant. "Your intelligence reports are unsatisfactory. Do you even desire to end this, or do you just enjoy playing?" He bent his head and looked into her eyes. His face was hard this time as he pulled back his hand from her slackened grip.

"You make it seem so dirty," she said a little heatedly, looking offended. "And why do you call me a child? It seems obscene to me that you allowed a woman to come near you, many times over, who you believe to be a little child." Her cheeks grew bright red, and her mouth drew down into a deep frown.

"You bicker and behave like a girl child, yet you desire to be treated like a woman?" he said and suddenly he looked amused in a manner as though he was mocking her.

She breathed in and out deeply a few times, and then her mouth rebounded into another clever smile. "You're being unfair again," she said, and her tone cleverly changed to a soft one. She was such an actress. "Why don't you stay? I shall give you _such_ pleasure . . . " There was a full smile on her pretty face now, and she moved between him and the window.

A sharp light cracked down upon them from the sky, and a puff of cool air blew a hair across his cheek. She looked black in the shadows, but his Sharingan could see such lovely colours in her heaving bosom and the sweat that oozed out from between her breasts. He had allowed himself to play, with her, so many times in just a span of one week.

How many times had he lain with her? She always came to him in the dead of the night—sometimes when it was dawn, too—and he never sent her away. She was convenient: a willing woman. But it was more than just that. She was also naïve. She felt that these tricks would mould his heart for her, change his decision—a childish kind of seduction. It was such a futile game, and he did not desire to end this show of desperate passions.

And she desired to be touched in such girlish ways, and he obliged for that was what it took to make her delirious, leave her panting and willing for more carnal meetings. She was so snared in his charms that he did not think it was just the alliance that drew her to him with lust in her heart. No, it was also pleasure, a deep, sinister kind of pleasure. The kind that made her breath hitch, beaded her bosom, made her painted-lips swell as they parted on vulgar moans without any shame in his chambers; a pleasure that was so new for her innocent body; a temple that lost its purity and virtue to a willing act of natural desecrations. She had ruined it herself, sweetly.

Ugly passions, ugly things, pleas for intimate acts and timid touches—they never made his heart sway like a desperate lover's in the grip of passion. Kisses, lovely and soft kisses, he denied them. A light press of the lips to the moist seep of pleasure, a warm, chakra-infused breath against the aching emptiness . . . that was enough. He did it because they were pleas from her lips, her sensuous body with its uncontrolled trembling.

She was such an easy child. It was so easy to please her, create an arch in her lovely back. A paroxysmal excitement in the air. A shuddering in the limbs. A perilous lust. A desperate time. She had no idea how foolish she was—he had slightly overestimated her. He grabbed his glove from the table and turned away with a mildly irritated look upon his face. He sat down on the large bed and grabbed the sword from the side-table and began to strap it to the back of his Anbu Jacket.

Kikyo, looking a little wary, approached him again in a hesitant manner. She sat close to him but made no attempt to touch him in any way. The light of the lantern, sitting on the side-table, made his red eyes gleam dangerously; he was a ferocious predator in the darkness of the night.

She gulped once, unsure of herself, but quelled her fear enough to speak. "We're alike, you and I," she said with an uneasy hesitation, and to her surprise, his lips twitched as though he was about to laugh. The emotion passed so quickly from his face like a sudden burst of light. She did not even get a chance to see it.

"Are we?" he asked, giving her a sidelong look as he counted the Kunais habitually. His face was expressionless again, though she could tell that he was slightly amused.

"Come now, Itachi-Sama," she spoke in a perky manner, and she was not a very perky girl, "you don't think that's true?"

He was silent. The shadows flickered on the side of his white cheek and the wall behind him. The red did not go away from his eyes—the stain shone defiantly there. It was not going away, and it mesmerised her, made her so afraid of the dangerous game she was playing.

"My father was such a brute. He broke my mother's ankle once. Stepped on it, he did. Broke the bone there in two," she said, and when he looked at her impassively, she was smiling. "She couldn't walk for months—the poor thing. I nursed her back to health. I loved her, you see. But my father loved me, cherished me like he knew no other." She widened her eyes as if it was an exciting children's tale.

And she went on: "love can be so terrible. I never loved him, but he always told me that I was the light of his eyes, the warmth in his heart and soul. I was his everything. But I never felt the same. And when he perished, I felt free, like my mother had been avenged of his cruelties. I thought of him as an adversary to overcome, to leave behind. His love didn't mean anything to me. I just thought of him as a clever trickster." The light flashed into the room, and she saw his eyes again; they were still . . . empty. She wanted to read something there to create a perfect net of deception, but it was hopeless—for now.

As the slivers of shadows traversed his face, she locked her eyes with his, feeling her bursting chest heave with lust and a tongue-less desire. "Do you think it hurt him, Itachi-Sama?" she asked and curled her fingers around his ungloved hand. "Do you think it hurts you the same?"

Her words brought out little from his eyes. Amusement hovered above them, an ominous ghost. "Perhaps you should have asked him. Alas, he has passed away. A missed opportunity," he said and smiled his habitual cold smile, his eyes flashing from beneath his tar-black hair. "I am sure he will be missed." That amused smile did not reveal itself again: it just touched his eyes and vanished.

"You hurt me," Kikyo said in a mellifluous, seductive tone. She climbed the bed and raised herself on her knees and parted her thighs as if she desired to be taken in such an odd posture. She stretched forth her thin white hand to his ungloved one again, grabbed it with a new strength in her fingers, and then she put it between her legs and stroked the inside of her thigh with his fingers.

"So persistent," he spoke with a hint of annoyance in his usually expressionless voice. His fingers raked up her inner thighs and the heel of his hand grazed the curls between her soft legs. "You would not leave this alone till you are not touched, would you? You are such an irksome, needy little child . . . "

Kikyo shuddered from the bitterness of his words and the feel of his fingers that felt hot and slippery on her genitals. A pretty red colour, like the first few drops of red sake, glowed on her cheeks, and she began to look inebriated. Her eyes fluttered and she bent forward, leaning against him and dropping her head upon his shoulder.

She parted her thighs wider and wider, whispering, shuddering, a moist flood travelling down her thighs; her lips wet against his nape and they trembled—too weak to plant any kisses there this time. She just whimpered, clinging to him, feeling him touch her there, around the flesh, on the flesh, in the tight flesh that desired something to fill her more, fill her full. He had touched her there before at her behest, but she felt so desperate now. It was so unfair of him to play hard to get all of a sudden when he had not denied her for so many morns and nights.

And a sudden tide filled her full now, and he felt a wild spray of her desperation on the palm of his hand. A shuddering, weak breath came from her lips, and she fell back and he, too, pulled his hand away. "Stay here," she spoke so meekly that it almost surprised him, "this won't satisfy me." And her desire shone brightly in her eyes.

He grabbed the corner of her Kimono and wiped his hand clean on it. Then he grabbed his glove and left the room in silence . . . without looking behind at the dangerous anger that warped her lovely face in such an ugly way.

The night was calm. The storm that was coming this way had changed its direction. It had gone to the west to show its anger on another village. And he waited and waited for the man to bring them the scroll from Tsunade. He was getting tired of it all. If it did not have anything in it this time, then he would have to rethink his part in Tsunade's quest for a full Council control. He had not thrown in this kunai for all this . . .

Serizawa brought the scroll with him from inside the office. It was an odd little post-office with a mews on the back. Hawks and Falcons came and went with the usual mail. What was she thinking sending it like this?

"Keep Sensing," he told Karin and she silently nodded. "Read it aloud. I am too weary for another empty message that means little."

Serizawa fumbled with the scroll, lowering his eyes. Itachi looked angry, in his own peculiar way. He unrolled it and read the details. It surprised him and he raised his eyes and looked at him with a sheepish expression. "It's just like you said, Itachi-Sama," he spoke, looking and sounding shocked, "Cloud had hired her to investigate Danzō's ties with Mist in the past . . . "

A clever smile did not make his lips tremble this time. No, he just felt it in his eyes. The irksome, needy little child was too predictable . . .

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Suigetsu stood beside him, wearing his customary ground-length cloak, chuckling. Next to him, Naruto looked downright whimsical. Everything was awash in grey colours, filtered into cold tones. If it was not for the scene before Sasuke, today would have been another boring day. It was report day. The most hated day of the month. He loathed it with passion. It was tiresome to see his ninjas spar and write hours upon hours of lengthy recommendations, which he was sure his brother probably gave a single glance to and threw away in the dustbin under his desk (with a sure smile on his sober face). He always had been a cruel perfectionist.

But today was a little different. Today, he got to throw one weeping freeloader out, see Naruto's progress, and to his delight, he was close to making his new Futon infused Rasengan with a single hand. It was something big for his friend; that and Hinata and Sakura were sparring. If only it was not so obscenely one-sided. If he had not stopped Sakura from using her seal, she would have probably crushed the girl into a thick red paste by now. Neji was downright dejected.

Hinata was getting thrown around like a rag-doll all over the place. She would swivel around and try and hit her chakra points, but it was a hopeless tactic. Speed was not on her side. Sakura was simply too fast for her. He had to admit, she had taken his criticism to heart that day and improved. She was faster, more dexterous this time. She was working hard to get into Anbu. All for the better. If she did not turn out to be the culprit, she would be out of Naruto's hair for good. The foolish romantic would finally focus on his own life and hone his talents—for once.

A whack resounded around them, the ground was crushed, and Hinata went flying into some trees and was knocked against a couple of thick branches. She fell down and struggled to get to her feet. Sakura looked happy. He would have to forward her Jōnin application now. It was only fair.

"Yor wife's being savagely slapped like the rump of a whore," Suigetsu spoke, chuckling. He was chewing on a straw clamped between his razor-sharp teeth.

A disgusted expression rose to Naruto's face, and he looked to Sasuke. "Sasuke, this man is vulgar," he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Tell me something new," he said with a smile and folded his arms across his chest.

"Ya could've chewed on her pussy more, and she wouldn't have ta join the army. Am just sayin'," he said and spat out the straw from his mouth.

"And I suppose _you_ have experience of tasting so many—" he stopped, looking so offended as though he did not want to say the word, "—pussies!" he almost choked out the word that it came out like a croak. He turned red like a tomato and sharply turned his head away.

Suigetsu let out a loud laugh, and Sasuke put his palm upon his eyes. Naruto was too innocent for such a silly talk. "'Course I do!" he said with determination on his face and slammed his fist into his breast as if he was about to give a speech of valour before the troops. "We have a motto!"

" _We?_ " Sasuke asked, feigning surprise and emitted a soft chuckle. Even Naruto looked a little curious.

"No, I meant the men of me mighty Hōzuki Clan!" he said aloud and raised his hands into the air. "We say, _no muff too tough, we grow gills for the thrills!_ We called it _, the muff-divers-clan-association!_ "

Sasuke let out a short bark of laughter behind his hands, his shoulders heaving, his cheeks growing so red. Naruto had an odd, baffled look on his face. He did not get it.

"Yes, I've heard about you men," Sasuke said and wiped a hand across his eyes. "That's why it went so fantastic with that Cloud woman last year, no?"

Suigetsu's mouth hung open in shock, but he quickly regained his composure. "So what if she pissed on me? I've gotta fetish!" he said with utmost confidence and cocked his nose with an air of supercilious vanity like this ' _motto_ ' was a real thing.

Naruto's eyes popped out—he could not believe what he was hearing. It sounded so dirty. Filthy. Vulgar. He loved Sakura-Chan. He pleased her in many ways, but urine was where he drew the line! "Sasuke," Naruto spoke and put his hand on Sasuke's head, appearing very sincere, "this man's spoiling you. If your brother finds out, he might faint with shame. He'll be crazy mad, I swear it—that you—that you're been hanging around a guy who lets women piss on him. Think of his blood-pressure!" Then he made a thinking face. "Does he have a blood-pressure problem?"

"Like hell I am!" Suigetsu yelled. "Am the man he made me. Ya don't know the half of it, ya blond goof!"

Before Naruto could say something, Hinata flew again to the left and hit another tree and fell down, but this time, she moved no more. Sasuke gazed at Neji; he looked a little disappointed. At least, she had defeated two Chūnins on his team. She was ready for the next trial. His brother would have little on him to throw her out. He looked at the crow and created a smile on his face as though Itachi was actually looking at him.

"Go to your wife and say a few kind words to her," he said to Naruto who suddenly looked very guilty and then gazed at Neji who was helping her on her feet, "she might need them from you this time."

Naruto did not protest and slowly made his way to Hinata. Shock permeated her face, but she smiled and let him grab her hand for support. Yuu approached him with the report from the infirmary. One of his men got injured a week ago on a mission. He was a young trainee medic. He fell down a tricky trap and suffered severe lacerations. His condition was stable now. He was relieved. The trainee was a talented boy of fourteen.

He had Raiton affinity like him, and his chakra control was phenomenal for his age. He was thinking about making a shinobi out of him, who would aid him in healing, as well. He would replace Sakura with him. The thought made him raise his eyes, and he saw her leaving the grounds all on her own.

He followed her with Yuu in his wake. The sky rumbled, and a light drizzle fell down on his warm face and it felt so cold upon his skin. "Where are you going?" he finally spoke, not desiring to pursue her foolishly any longer.

Sakura stopped and turned around, surprised. "I have to prepare a medicine for an Anbu soldier. Itachi-Sama left me with this task," she said, her green eyes raking his face ferociously.

"I have a mission for you," he spoke, and a small ripple of unwanted irritation crossed his face when he heard the crow caw behind him. The damned thing never left him alone!

Sakura stole a glance at the red-eyed crow and returned her eyes to Sasuke's mildly troubled features. "I'll do it after I am done with this task," she said, and he heard a note of wild resentment in her voice. She turned around and walked away.

Yuu stepped forward and parted his lips to call out to her, but Sasuke put his arm before him. "Let her go," he said and turned around to face him as he smiled, "let her fly high. I'll drag her face-first to the ground. This is the third time she's disobeyed me. She thinks I don't know all the rules. She believes herself to be so clever. Let Nii-Sama come. Let's see if he coddles her this time."

And then he walked back towards the grounds with an angry glint in his eyes. Yuu breathed in deeply—she really was making things more difficult for herself.

The steps back home were affected by a flood of thoughts. They were unsteady, shaky. She did not know why she was even doing all this. For whom? A cold and unsteady breath made her heart flutter. Her father? Her mother? Her Konoha? For . . . Sasuke? Puffs of cool wind blew in her face. Winter was cold on the heels of autumn, and Sakura flowers were almost dead. Few resilient ones adorned the dry branches. They, too, would perish in the first rain of winter. The winds would kill them.

She did not know why, but the thought made her sad. The lilies remained and Sakura wilted as it waited and waited for the pink moths to bring something of the lily back to her; but the impassioned pink moths always died, drawn to those cruel purple moths for fleeting moments of pleasures. The sons survived and the daughters always perished. Always . . .

Sakura stopped by the gate, her hand squeezing the knot of cloth tightly. She looked down and saw a pink moth writhing pitifully by her sandals. It was dying. The show of death was so cruel. And her lips went dry and silent, torrential tears streamed from her green eyes—their white pools flecked with the reddish sting of pain and passion.

She bent down and, with shaking fingers, picked it up from the ground. It fluttered and jumped into the air, its belly filled full with a purple poison. The colour looked vulgar beneath the thin layer of pink, like something big and thick was buried there in a cruel ritual of coitus. She kept watching it till she could see it like this no longer. And she made a soft fist of her hand to hide it there and stepped into her house and called to her mother. She came running and took the cloth from her hand.

Sakura went to her room first and put the moth there on the small table by the purple lantern, thinking that, perhaps, the light of something it craved so much would soothe the pain of death. She made her way to her father's room. The old partition screen was folded there. It let in a faint, bleak kind of light she did not like. It struck her father's sleeping face, and he looked so fragile and old, older than his years. This grave illness had left him so hollow and frail.

She sat down on the bed beside him and fed him the medicine made of the ingredients Danzō had procured for her. They were illegal in the Fire Country. Even the Kinjutsus it required were not allowed here. Only a few no-named nomadic villages grew these herbs. She had pleaded before Tsunade to get them for her, but she was bound by law. If Danzō had not offered her aid, her father would have died two years ago.

But it was just prolonging the inevitable. Sakura silently got up, said a few reassuring words to her mother, and went to her own room. She locked it from inside this time and slumped down beside the table. The moth was dead. It was moving no more. It was as if its death had sapped the life from her body, too.

A sudden feeling of loss gave her cold shudders in every fibre of her being, and she grabbed the needle and punctured the bulbous belly of the moth. The poison, as expected, had turned a little pink now, diluted and weakened by a small defence mechanism of its own tiny body; it was by Nature's design. She grabbed a phial and positioned it underneath the moth and squeezed its belly a little. A few drops fell down. That was all she needed.

Sakura put the stopper in the phial and placed it in a small wooden holder sitting on the table. It was half-full, filled with a clear pink-ish poison that was so deadly. This one phial of it was enough to kill a few men. It was not as lethal as the one within the glands of the Autumn Moth. No, that one was much more sinister and evil. A little whiff of it was enough to induce a terrible, aching fever, and few of its deep-purple drops killed one in seconds; but she knew that, if the right amount of this distilled pink one (which she had made with the essence of lilies and poison from the pink-moths' bellies) went into the skin, it, too, would grant the man an excruciating death within a couple of minutes.

She sighed, and then she started crying silently. She bent her head down as though she was trying to hide her shame again, watching as her tears fell on the shaking fists resting upon her thighs. "Sasuke . . . " she whispered and that name fell from her lips so suddenly, unbidden, raw with a visceral kind of want that rattled her body, " . . . why are you so cold to me?"

And her weeping grew in earnest as she raised her eyes and saw the hazy form of the moth through the shroud of painful tears. If he had embraced her, given her his love, she really would have left her parents behind—left this pain of loss that would be upon her in the near future. Her eyes went to the poison, and the tears stopped. The few of them that stubbornly clung to her pink cheeks made her skin itch. All he had to do was love her, and she would be free, free of everything, but he was not fair . . . he just was not fair . . .

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	53. The Crumbling Man

**Chapter Fifty-Three** : The Crumbling Man

 **Canon-Manga Info** : At the end of the final battle between Naruto and Sasuke that took place at the 'Valley of the End', Naruto confessed that "seeing Sasuke hurt, hurts him, as well."

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Blue eyes, soft blue eyes, that gazed beyond the mist at the sky. His birth date was near, and as if a sudden, wild thought struck him, anger scurried across his face and thin lines creased his strained brow. What did that day even mean to him now? He curled his fingers into a fist and clamped his other hand over it, eyes looking at Sasuke and the rest of the Team.

It was trials' week, and the ground was reserved for their team at this time of the day. It was still day, but the sky was so bleak and grey that it felt as if evening was just an hour away. The mist was thick and heavy, and he could see nothing beyond the trees. Everything was grey and shadow-like around the crooked branches there. The flowers were gone and raindrops clung to their rough tips, gleaming and shining in the weak light.

Hinata was practicing chakra control with Neji. She was trying to execute a successful Thirty-Two Palms attack. She had improved. Her footing and stance were better. She made a few quick stabs with her fingers, missed, and nearly landed face-first into the mud. Neji had easily countered her. He was still too fast for her sluggish movements. Her cheeks got pink and hot. She really had come such a long way. How far had he come? In five years, he could not say that far . . .

His eyes found Sakura's face. Winter's cold was not too unkind to her. She was teaching a trainee Medic, a boy, how to expel chakra from his palms to close up the wounds. Pink hair was sticking to her pinker cheeks and raindrops glimmered on her lips. When she smiled, the droplets fell down upon her bosom. It was flushed like the most pink roses. Soft, delicate, sweet—like her body.

She did not have the fullness of Hinata's breasts or the flare of her hips, but he found her beautiful in her own way. She had smaller curves one would associate with athletic girls, not women. Her breasts were small, too small for women. They were like tiny buds on her breast that still had to grow and discover the fullness of youth. The soft curve of her inner thighs was harder than Hinata's—much harder. There was strength in her legs, and her muscles were far more defined than a woman should have.

But he did not care. She was a different woman—a new kind of woman. He had only been with one whore in his whole life before Hinata: a perky girl of twenty. When he saw her nakedness the first time, his loins stirred so violently. He had never seen so much as a naked breast; and seeing a bare woman offering herself to him with her thighs wide-open was . . . exhilarating, if anything.

And he had jumped on her and forced her legs further apart. She never protested when he forced himself inside her. She was sopping wet, and he stroked her as she lay there, mewling as though she actually enjoyed the act. He could not really say for sure, but he felt that it was the smell and taste of money Sasuke had given her that had made her so horny—a small bag filled with several gold coins: it was a birthday gift from Sasuke, and Naruto was too eager to accept it.

When he lost his virtue, he had considered himself a changed man. Sex was new, thrilling, and delicious. The soft, warm, and tight feel of a woman's body was not something he could compare his own innocent touches with. His masturbations felt almost silly afterwards. The heat of being inside a woman . . . was just not the same. So when he was wedded to Hinata, he was just as overeager, and that tactless enthusiasm did not bode well for him.

She winced and bled and cried. She was not wet and eager for him. He did not know which scents and tastes would make her flow like that whore. He really did not know. He was clueless, clumsy, and just too ashamed to ask Sasuke of anything. He knew it would humiliate him. Just thinking about talking on such a private affair bruised his ego. What would he have asked him? How to make his wife wet like that one whore he had slept with? It was shameful, and humiliating.

And so, it went on and on like that till he got sick of her distance and her pain and her tears. He wanted soft sighs and softer moans. He found them with Sakura; she told him what to do and how to touch her and where to touch her. She told him how she liked to be caressed and bedded. She so loved to have her breasts be fondled by his tricky hands and tactless mouth. His tongue upon the pink-tipped crests elicited such lovely breaths from her lips.

When he had lain with her in warm days, hearing the loud sounds of the first spring rain outside the window, feeling the heat of her flesh against his, he just knew he loved her. Her green eyes were like the moors—not the empty moors where he had left Hinata behind—like the moors of the spring where the grass grew tall and lush and rustled wildly in the wind, and the smell of Sakura flowers filled the air.

Her body became his world and his sanctuary. The smell of her between her legs was lovely and stirring. It roused him in ways that whore never could. Hinata never could. It was beautiful, raw, musky—like the scent of earth when it drank the first rain of summer, like the aroma of wet flowers in the marsh. It was bewildering in a very lovely way, and he never wanted to part with such a feeling. It was his, his to cherish, his to relish, his to love . . .

His mind wandered again, and the road there had tapered off to a small street that ran like ugly ruts left by wagon tires between the filthy and cramped houses. It had been wandering often now. He dreamt terrible dreams where he ran and ran though the dark, with eyes watching him, pursuing him in the shadows. He had been hearing faint voices whisper to him in the quiet nights and cold days. They whispered of such heinous and ominous things.

That thing in the dark always slithered there, spewing its malice. Its mouth would lift and reveal razor-sharp teeth, and then it would snarl a challenge as though he was an adversary it needed to conquer. A cold shudder moved through his limbs and heart. He did not know what was happening to him.

He looked to Sasuke, scratching his blond hair. His Sharingan was sleeping in his eyes. They were black—so black. It was a trait all Uchihas shared, and it always looked magnificent when the red consumed black, overcoming it like a fresh ooze of blood. He took in a cold breath, his heart still racing. The Jōnin trials were coming near, but he felt that he was behind. If he failed this, then what would he do?

He grimaced. A hateful thought ran through his mind again, and that same evil feeling of something sinister crawling under his skin burnt his heart. It jumped and thundered for a few moments before it found its nervous pace again. The sky rumbled twice, and he lifted his face to feel the drizzle upon his cheeks. They grew pink and cold. His birth-date . . .

He bent forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and bowed his head as he gazed at the few yellow flowers, which still remained, dance and sway by his muddy sandals. They were tenacious. Sakura called them yellow-poppies. Most of them perished in autumn, but few escaped the deathly cold of winter to survive for another season before they finally embraced death in spring.

A smile came to his face, and he felt it twist his cold lips. They were such odd flowers, bright yellow and tiny. His eyes traced their delicate stems and saw the manner in which they bounced back up again and again after being pelted by a few raindrops. They looked delicate, fragile, but they did not want to remain down. No, they rose back up over and over again. They were so stubborn.

"Naruto," a voice spoke, and he raised his head to meet Sasuke's eyes. They were still black and devoid of that colour that was so soothing and so frightening at the same time. Sasuke was always the same: he was such a moody man who blew hot and cold at the tiniest of things these days. Itachi really had brought him up in the most bizarre ways.

"Yeah?" Naruto said and wiped his face on his wet sleeve.

"Are you feeling well?" Sasuke asked, his face turning a little curious and wary. "You don't look so well. Do you have a fever?" He moved his hand and placed it over Naruto's forehead. It was wet and cold. The Sharingan flickered in his eyes like embers in the fireplace, and Naruto felt denuded before him. Shame rose in his breast. He did not want Sasuke to see everything, so he averted his gaze and began to look at the flowers again. They were still bouncing in the rain like excited children.

"I think so," he said with a little uncertainty in his voice. Then he scratched his hair again and grinned, turning his face up to Sasuke who looked just as serious as before.

"You look like you haven't slept a wink in weeks," he said and narrowed his eyes, his Sharingan weighing his lies and half-hearted truths. "Is Sakura keeping you awake at night? So demanding, your little mistress." And then he smiled a mischievous smile this time, revealing his white teeth.

Thunder roared and a gust of wind made Sasuke squint his right eye. The Sharingan was still there, and Naruto felt his insides squirm with uneasiness and fear at the sight of it. He let out a nervous laugh and wiped at his nose. "No, you grouch," he spoke in a manner as if his words amused him.

"Still clinging to the profitless life of an obedient monk?" he asked and watched Naruto frown childishly, his cheeks growing redder. "Tell you what, next time we go outside the village, I'll buy you a good harlot."

"A common one for your best friend, eh?" he asked and rose to his feet faster than a bolt of lightning as though he wanted to fight. "How about you buy me a Tayū?"

Sasuke looked at him odd for a moment or two, and then a deep laugh rattled in his white throat, his cheeks getting hot with the warm blood that rushed to his face. "I can't afford those," he said, looking thoroughly amused.

"Hah, I knew it! You're such a miser, Sasuke," he said loudly over the sound of wind. "All good things for yourself and none for a poor man like me?"

"Are you insane? They're expensive. I'll be giving away months' worth of my pays just to take a peek at their thighs," he said with a very sober face and started walking out of the grounds with Naruto in his wake. He hurried forward to match his pace, his sandals sloshing through the mud.

"We can share—just you and me!" he said excitedly and created this big smile on his face and smacked his fist into his other hand. Then his smile slowly faded and he frowned. "That came out wrong . . . "

Sasuke shook his head and breathed out a long sigh. "You can't share Tayūs, you fool. They only serve one customer," he said and sniffed the air. It was cold and redolent of dead leaves and rotten wood.

"Why does Itachi get all the good stuff? Cold little, rich deviant . . . " Naruto grumbled under his breath and then sneezed a couple of times. Cold weather never suited him. His runny nose turned bright red, and he wiped at it, like a clumsy Genin kid, a couple of times, looking to the right and then to the left afterwards to make sure nobody saw him.

"What?" he asked and stopped walking and so did Naruto. He stared at him with an irritated expression. "Stop talking about Nii-Sama's private affairs with me. It's sickening."

"I didn't say anything," he mumbled indignantly by making a funny face and quickly looked away when Sasuke raised his eyebrows high enough that they disappeared behind the untrainable black hair flopping on his forehead.

"A'right, you grouch, I was just—" he stopped at the sound of a loud caw up in the tree. He craned his neck and squinted his eyes and tried his hardest to get a good look at the bird. "Is that your brother's bird?" He raised his curved hand, put it against his forehead, and stared up as though he was sitting in a ship's crow's nest to keep a lookout for danger.

"Figured it out just now?" Sasuke asked with a sarcastic expression and folded his arms across his breast. He watched as Naruto's mouth created a childish smile. Then he let out his habitual, sputtering chuckle and turned redder than before.

"Fine, I'm a dolt and you're smart. Happy?" he said and raised his hands up, making a really serious face this time.

"The more things change, the more they stay the same," he said slowly with a smile on his lips and started walking again.

"Why, you stupid bastard!" he yelled and took a few quick paces to match his stride. Then he threw his arm around Sasuke's neck and pulled him close. "Just borrow some money from your bother. Make that sad, miserable face like you always do. It melts most people—it'll melt Itachi faster." He jabbed his finger into the air and grinned with all his teeth peeking out.

"What sad and miserable face?" he asked, with nothing but curiosity apparent on his face, and suddenly stopped to face Naruto.

Naruto grabbed his shoulders. "This sad face," he spoke, smiling, and then his mouth turned down to form a near perfect bow, and he widened his eyes as much as he could that his blue-eyes were like two foreign balls about to pop out of their sockets.

"What nonsense," Sasuke said incredulously, red tinting his cheeks in anger and a bit of embarrassment, "I don't make such faces."

"'Course you do!" Naruto said, louder this time, and put both of his hands on each side of his face. "Sasuke, I am telling you, you don't always look good." His eyes widened in a manner as though he was still trying to imitate an expression.

"Quit it," he said with a childish irritation and pushed Naruto's hands away. He turned around to look at the infirmary in the distance between a huddle of buildings, and he felt the cool wind hit his eyes and cheeks. The winds had turned so cold.

"Why, you think you look stupidly good-looking _all_ the time? Trust me, you make a really ugly sad face that only your brother can love," he said with a slight wave of his hand and nodded to himself.

"I'm not asking Nii-Sama for money. What's wrong with you?" he asked and looked over his shoulder at Naruto who was still grinning.

"You can. He'll listen," he took two bouncy steps forward and playfully jabbed his elbow into Sasuke's ribs.

"Yes, that would be a pleasant conversation—Nii-Sama, how was your day? Can you lend me some money to rut with a Tayū? Oh and, lend some extra, too, so that Naruto can _finally_ lose his unending virtue," he spoke with a fake smile.

"I have had sex—I didn't jump out of that whore-house's window. Stop accusing me of that, damn it!" he bellowed and raised his customary shaking finger into the air like a disgruntled judge.

"The jury's out on that one," he shot back, smiling.

"Sasuke, I told you before, I'm a one woman—" his voice disappeared into a yelp, and he jumped a little when the bird landed on his shoulder to let out another caw. "Get away from me, you annoying bird." He flailed his arms about to scare it off. The crow flapped its wings and pecked at his head a couple of times. His hands shot up to protect his head as he shouted obscenities about ' _bitch-crows_ ' and ' _cunt-birds_ ' and squinted his eyes.

Sasuke laughed. Naruto cracked his one eye open and found the crow sitting on Sasuke's right shoulder. It twisted its head a little to the left and then to the right, gazing into Sasuke's right eye, the shuriken whirling excitedly there.

"This bird's as mean as Itachi," he said, patted his head a couple of times, and winched.

"That managed to shut you up about your monk stories," he said and smiled at the bird, and it cawed loudly in response and suddenly fell silent, stretching its neck threateningly in Naruto's direction as though it did not like him.

"I hate this bird," he grumbled through clenched teeth and followed Sasuke as he walked to a bench under the tree. He sat down, and the bird on his shoulder shook its body and fluffed out its feathers. Its tiny red eyes were still on Naruto, and the Shurikens there made him shiver.

Naruto kept looking at the crow and an eerie darkness fell over his eyes. He swayed and fell forward, but Sasuke caught him. He helped him sit down on the bench and stared into his empty eyes. "Naruto, what's wrong?" he asked, but he was still looking at the bird, and the Sharingan there was staring at him as if it could see his thoughts. He was naked, ashamed, humiliated.

He breathed in a deep and broken breath. "I don't know, Sasuke, I—" and a shuddering spasm closed the sentence, and he could speak no more. He could think no more. Everything was gone. All that was left was his shame and the red in the crow's bleak eyes.

He heard Sasuke move, and then he felt his cold, wet fingers on the back of his neck. He heard a soft breath escape Sasuke's lips. Then Sasuke sat down beside him and clamped his hand on his shoulder, but Naruto's face was still working feverishly with an honest fear he had not seen in weeks. The seal . . . it was disappearing!

"Come with me. You can stay in the manor," he said softly, looking from Naruto's confused blue eyes, which continued to stare at the crow, to the odd manner in which the Shurikens spun there like brilliant undying flames in the crow's head.

"Your brother will allow it?" he asked in such a sad voice that Sasuke felt nothing but pity for him.

"I will . . . talk to Nii-Sama. He'll listen," he said, and his face was set in anger and defeat and shame.

Naruto let out a dreamy laugh and blinked. "Last time he asked you to stop pursuing Anbu in exchange for having me as a teammate. I wonder what he'll ask you to give up this time when he learns that I'm just a mad-man who's barely keeping it together," he said and created a bitter smile on his face that suddenly looked so pallid. "I feel guilty, but I was selfish. I wanted to be close to you, Sasuke. You're dear to me—our friendship's dear to me. You gave up your dream. I hope—I hope you forgive me."

A slight fleck of red appeared in his eyes, and a few tears trailed down his trembling cheeks. He sniffed and wiped his face clean and let out a weary laugh. "You must think I'm so pathetic," he said and tilted his head back to stare up, blinking his eyes rapidly as rain fell down upon his face that exhibited defeat. "I've failed at everything. I'm not a good husband—I've failed Hinata. I'm not a good lover—I've failed Sakura. I'm just a burden to her. I-I have shamed my parents—failed them, too. I . . . " He did not say anything more and closed his eyes; but Sasuke's Sharingan was sharp enough to see small lines of chakra leave his eyes. He was still crying.

His eyes were so red and sad now, and Sasuke did not know what to say to comfort him. "I've failed you, too, Sasuke," he said in anguish and opened his eyes to stare up at the sky again. It was cold to him today, so cold and cruel, but he was glad that it hid his shame—if only just a little. "I always fall back on you. I know you love your brother. He's so dear to you. You may not say it, but I can see it in your eyes. They always . . . glow when you talk about him, even when you're angry with him."

"Naruto, you don't need to worry about—"

"No, let me say it," he said in a shaky voice and put his hand upon his breast and tried to settle his breath into an even pattern. His heart pounded, but he found a bit of strength and courage to speak under the veil of rain. "I shouldn't have requested such a thing. It was selfish. It wasn't right. Seeing you hurt like this . . . hurts me. I keep asking favours from you, and you go against your brother for it. I don't want that anymore. I don't want to see you like this, hurting over small things that don't even matter."

"Naruto, you—" he suddenly stopped and looked at Sakura as she appeared from behind the trees. At that moment, he felt a surge of anger, but he stayed silent and looked back at Naruto who was smiling at her.

"Naruto, shall we leave?" she asked in a shy voice, and an innocent smile rose to Naruto's lips and his face changed. He looked happy, almost hypnotized.

He stood up and Sasuke got to his feet quickly, too. His hand was still upon Naruto's shoulder, and Naruto turned his face to stare deep into his red eyes. It was as though he wanted to say so much. "I'm a small matter," Naruto whispered and put his hand on Sasuke's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, "you shouldn't worry about me."

And then he walked away with slow steps towards Sakura. A soft wall of mist rose between them, and when the light fell down upon him, the shadows grew thick around Sakura and Naruto. "Naruto, come with me. You don't look well," he spoke with a tiny bit of elusive desperation in the tone of his voice, and Naruto stopped to look back with a firm smile on his weak lips; he had made up his mind.

He looked at him for a few moments in silence and his smile widened. "Don't worry, I'll go to the infirmary. I'll see you tomorrow," he said and walked away with Sakura. He caught a glint of something in her eyes, and he did not like it at all.

The matter on the grounds was done. He wasted no moment to do something about Sakura. She had to be stopped; so with an application-scroll clutched firmly in one hand, he took firm steps up the stairs of the Hokage's office. The windows were closed and fogged. Fire burnt in the hearths in the hall. It was empty save for two lowly grunt-Shinobis.

His steps resounded in the emptiness, cutting through the faint sounds of excited babble that came from beyond the thick door of her office. He barged in and the room fell silent. Shizune stood by the table with a stack of files in her hands and another ninja he really did not know stood on Tsunade's left—probably someone from her Medic-team. The smile on her face slowly faded.

Tsunade took a quick sip of sake, and her cheeks instantly glowed with a red hue. A smile curled her lips when she looked at him, but she did not say anything to mock the urgency in his face. He closed the door behind him and took few steps to put the scroll on the table that was cluttered with thick stacks of files, two sake bottles, and three different cups. She had even spilled some of it on the old scrolls—she was a clumsy drinker.

"I need to speak with you," he spoke in a firm voice and then looked at Shizune and the other timid looking female ninja to add, "privately."

Tsunade drank down the full cup of that red sake and put it down on the table. Her brown eyes appraised him for a moment. She appeared to look faintly amused. She nodded to Shizune, and she left the room with the other ninja. When the door clicked shut behind Sasuke, he brought his eyes back to the woman, and the Sharingan appeared in his eyes: it always did when there was some kind of fear and a faint sense of thrill in his heart.

"What is it this time, boy?" she asked and licked at her lips—she wanted to relish the taste of sake that still lingered there. Her eyes twinkled, and she breathed out a satisfied sigh.

"Naruto's ill," he began and clasped his hands behind his back, "I want him off the team till he doesn't get well."

She pressed her fingers to her lips and looked at him with the most suspicious look in her beautiful face. Her gaze roved on his young, rigid features for a moment, and then she looked at the scroll and picked it up from the table. There was silence in the room now. The wind outside was gaining strength, and the bare boughs close to the window smacked themselves against the thick glass.

She took in a deep breath and held it for a second before letting it out in a heavy sigh. "He's working hard for the Jōnin post. I really don't see how a little illness can be used to send him home—now that he's so close," she said and rolled up the scroll, her eyes still upon his face that became a little more rigid than before.

"If he isn't sent home, then he'll fail," he said and there was a slight inflection that came into his voice. He was trying to control his anger.

"Where is he? Why is he not here with you to request for a leave?" Tsunade asked, lacing her fingers together on the table. She was calm and met his eyes with a firm expression of authority.

Sasuke sniffed the air, his jaws clamped shut as though he wanted to shout at her for being foolish, but he forced himself to create a rude smile. "Despite my protests, he's run off to play with your student. I hear that it's a common habit of a mistress," he said with an air of disgust about him and a cold smile he had no intention to hide.

She narrowed her brown eyes, and a flicker of anger came into face only to go away again, quickly. "Get to the point, boy," she spoke, and her voice came out like a hiss.

"But she _is_ the reason for his failures," he said and continued to smile, and she could see Itachi in him—in his red, cunning eyes; his hard, beautiful face; his cold, serpent smile. Every feature there was blurred into a smear of childlike innocence. He looked young—so young, so pure that it was impossible for her to see this frigidness permeate his skin and muscles like a theatrical show of make-believe spectres; and despite his protests and tantrums and clever tricks, he imitated Itachi. It was not hard to see.

"You just love to pin her with everything, don't you?" she asked slowly and watched, mesmerized, as the smile vanished from his face in a manner that had far less finesse and control than Itachi possessed, but it really was the same: the ghostly twitch of the lip, the slight squint of the eye, and the flickering green vein that popped out on the side of his white jaw.

Sasuke, the boy who loved to mimic his brother and who so adored his brother, his features had probably forgotten what he himself felt. No, they just loved this act of mimicry, this act of wearing a clever and readymade façade, this act of love. His face was like a ghost of his brother's cold and cunning visage. No, he really was a wispy ghost of Itachi—a lovely ghost that was still young and innocent and pure; but the games, these cruel games, he played really made him such an odd canvas for his brother to fill. He always had been a boy left to craft his Self at Itachi's cold whims, and something about it was so tragic.

"It's the truth," he said and his soft tone quickened a little in anger and stubbornness. "Your student is ruining him. I won't let it happen."

"Sakura has nothing to do with—"

"You _know_ what's inside him," he cut her off in a harsh and grave voice this time as his Sharingan flashed and changed to take on a different pattern. They were petals, like that of a flower, spinning in his eyes as if being swept away by the wind. "Don't think I don't know. I can see it, too. It's killing him. His seals are weakening, and I get the feeling that your student is behind this."

Colour flew from Tsunade's face. Her face and hands began to tremble, but she, too, had the experience and age to hide her emotions behind the tricks of her features. She rose to her feet and put her hands on the table, her eyes looking into the odd pattern with a resolute challenge she was not ready to lose. "And _what_ is your proof for such an accusation?" she asked, and her voice became hard and rough. To her surprise, he merely smiled—a kind of cool, habitual smile his brother always wore.

"I'll get proof—don't you worry, Hokage-Sama," he spoke in an earnest, soft manner, and his demeanour just frightened her. He looked mischievous, devoid of any feelings for his teammate, but he never cared much for her when he grew older. He left a lot of things behind, then. A lot of things—Sakura was just one of the many he discarded like a used-up toy. His innocence was probably another one he had little desire to pick back up again. That playtime was over, and she knew it was a thing of the past for this precocious and impish boy so coddled by his wicked older brother: he was just a naughty child in Itachi's eyes . . .

She breathed in deep and fast with anger consuming her heart and mind, but at that moment, steps sounded on the outside and the door swung open the next moment; and there in the door stood Minato. His expression was blank, but it turned curious and then suspicious when his eyes fell upon Sasuke looking over his shoulder at him. He really could not see the young Uchiha's face. He slowly closed the door and walked inside. His eyes were so blue—a trait Naruto had inherited from him.

He stopped close to Sasuke and took in a great breath. He looked angry. "My son collapsed in the infirmary," he spoke, and he sounded frigid and distant.

Shock came into Tsunade's pretty white face. She steered her gaze from Sasuke's expressionless face and red eyes to Minato's that worked in the kind of fury she had never seen before. "Did this happen just now?" she asked and made her way around the table to look clearly at Minato's cold countenance. The shadows had found their home along the lines of his face. It was a little hazy in the frail light of the evening sun.

He did not answer her; instead, he turned a little and looked down at the shorter man before him, his features knotting with contempt and anger. "Have you been using Sharingan on my son?" he asked and Tsunade could see such vicious hate in his eyes that she did not think he had in him.

Sasuke's face twisted in ferociousness, eyes flashed like fire, and he turned to face him. There was not an ounce of fear on his young face. He matched the hatred of the man before him. No, he beat it with his own contempt and arrogance. Light flashed into the room, and Tsunade could not believe how murderous Sasuke looked. Minato should not have said that.

"What are you suggesting?" Sasuke asked, the fury in his voice apparent. It was an odd, hissing voice that came from his lips. He was ready to avenge his clan there . . . at that single moment. He knew he would not care for Minato's blood or how it would dirty and stain the new mat. She, too, knew.

"My son has been getting ill and the Sharingan is known to . . . tame the daemons," he accused, and his blue eyes gleamed with anger. Another flash of lightning blinded her for a moment, but the red in Sasuke's eyes shone through the haze, and she could see his face so clearly now, warped by anger and a murderous intent her eyes could not deny. How much did he really know?

"Choose your next words wisely, Minato," he spoke brusquely, and his fine features worked into a thin, sneering smile that angered Minato even more. "I won't allow you to insult my family for your own mistakes. You're paying for them with your shame. Embrace it. I hardly doubt you deserved any less."

Thunder rumbled, and the new wooden floor beneath their feet shook. Minato's eyes did not leave his, and he could see such malice in them. He felt as though Sasuke was avenging his father by hurting his son. It was justified, but so cruel. He could not fault the boy, but he could not bear the thought of his son suffering any longer at his devious hands. His eyes . . . they made him feel a delicious, slow fear that flowed through his heart, and his soul was suddenly awash with its intensity.

But he fought it. It did not matter if his father was innocent or a schemer. It did not matter—only his son did. He loved him so dearly. He was all he had. To lose him would mean he would have no future, and he had already lost a past in the wake of shame and mistakes and blunders. If he could just save his boy, then that would be enough.

So he narrowed his eyes that were two bluest oceans, and snuffed out that fear. Naruto was his son and he loved him. "You are such a contemptuous boy, are you not? Whatever game you are playing, leave my son out of it. Or, I swear, you will be remorseful, boy," he said in a voice that was still laced with a bit of bygone authority and raised his hand to point an accusing finger at him.

"I wonder if you were ever remorseful when you chased tulips in the autumn mists and thick fogs," he said and wore a clever smile, watching with detached amusement as Minato's features changed so suddenly. He was so shocked that he could not tame his features, could not smooth the lines to hide his treachery.

"You . . . " his voice trailed off, and he showed teeth in anger, " . . . what game are you playing?"

"You're just a deceitful little foo—"

"Be silent, Sasuke!" Tsunade cut across him loudly, and he sharply turned his angry gaze at her as though he did not like her interference. "Leave my office. Now." And she saw his eyes alight with mischief, and his lips twist with a curl of delight, before he left her office in silence.

Silence fell over the room, heavy like a burden. Minato was breathing a bit heavily. His eyes were still on the door. At last, he brought his gaze upon her face and fixed her with a look that was no less angry than before. He looked at her for a few moments in silence, weighing his words, and then he finally spoke as his anger cooled down to something more endurable: "I am taking my son home. He is ill. His seal is weak. I do not want him to perish for my mistakes. I will not repeat them again, but I will never sacrifice my son for the sake of this village. Not again. Never again."

And he did not stay and left as quietly as he had come into her office. Tsunade leant back against the table and put her hand to her bosom, feeling her heart beat so loudly there. Tulips and mists . . . what did he mean by that?

# # # # # #

"Stop treating me like I'm some child, Ryo," Kikyo spoke in a half-embarrassed, half-angry voice. "I know what I desire and what I want. You're still young. This matter's beyond your understanding. Leave your sister be." And she fastened her eyes on the ruffled features of the young man before her. He was no older than fifteen—a fine, tall, and a slightly ungainly fellow. His angry face gave him an air of mighty anger too much for his young age.

"I left you alone and this is what you did?" he asked, anger flaring in his eyes that gleamed with a bit of scorn and fury. It was a matter of honour. "You've shamed yourself, sister. Must you have me tell you that there's a line you shouldn't have crossed? The men are talking, women are talking, children are talking—everyone's talking!" And he was breathing heavily with such wide, ghastly eyes, and his young breast moved with haste to the rhythms of his fiery heart.

She looked at him with deep attention as if he was an unexpected intruder and pressed her fan to her delicate lips; they folded upon the paper there and she smiled. "Come here, my _little_ darling," she said and put the fan in her lap and stretched her arms out to embrace him.

He did not move for a few moments as he stared at her in annoyance. At last, his features grew serene, and he let out a weary sigh, got up, and went to her. Then he sat down beside her and let her clasp him in her delicate arms. She laid his soft cheek against her bosom, parted the messy shock of brown hair, and kissed his head a few times with heartfelt affection.

"You shouldn't have done this," he said and twisted his lips into a frown as if he had tasted something sour. "You shouldn't have done this. It would just give that fool in Shitchi more reasons to lay dirt on you. You shouldn't have done this . . . " And he was shaking his head in disappointment, his features becoming hard and sober that he began to look older than his years.

He was still a delicate young man. Winter made him feel cold, and he hid in his room to escape it, often. He avoided the hills like the plague. The cold made it too hard to venture into the snow that whipped around the sparse villages there. They were men of the marsh—wolves of summer. Winter was their death; it weakened them, but his young blood was too arrogant to accept it.

"Must you always worry yourself?" Kikyo asked so sweetly and held his face in her palms. It was a different kind of sweetness: it was free from the evils of seductions and poisons of ugly passions. It was free and lovely and beautiful. And she bent her head a little to place kisses upon his warm cheeks and forehead.

"I worry for you," he said with visible emotion, and his eyes flickered with fear as he backed away to look upon her. "That man is a snake—a trickster. He can't be trusted. He became the commander of all military corps at the mere age of eighteen. That—that's something unheard of. He's not an easy meal to swallow. Why do you treat him like a common adversary? Putting yourself in danger and—" he stopped, biting his tongue, "—getting intimate with him for an alliance? That's not what we agreed with that man. We agreed to stall him here and keep the scroll safe. He isn't even interested in your proposal."

Ryo's eyes caught the light of the lamp and they glimmered, hot and fiery. It was night, and the shadows were tall. Kikyo smiled in response, and her smile was unabashedly wicked. "I just adore his tricks," she said in a sinister tone, and it was like a serpent's voice in his young ears, "he's so cold and elusive and powerful . . . and _so_ beautiful. It makes it so thrilling to pin him down like a fish." And she laughed and the laughter rippled through his body. He did not like the sound of it.

"You're being foolish. He isn't a fish," Ryo warned, and his featured knotted up into another look of cold fear, "he'll bite you, and I'll be left to clean up the mess. Make up your mind."

Kikyo's white face assumed a shocked expression. "Do you believe it to be so easy? It isn't. I can't just offer him the scroll if he's hell-bent on refusing me. That can't be done," she said and adjusted the delicate silk shawl draped around her shoulders. Her black hair was spread like ink on her fine skin. She tossed them back, and the beads dangling from the golden pins in her hair tinkled.

Ryo slapped his hands on his knees and bent forward. "It isn't about the damned scroll! It's about you hanging yourself above a monster's mouth with little to gain," he snarled, and she looked taken aback by the sudden rise in his anger. "Sister, this man's dangerous. If your game of Sharingan isn't working, then we have nothing to gain from this—no light to gain to change its fate. Why can't you see the foolishness in all this? I don't understand you." He looked down to his lap and rubbed his hands together. He was nervous.

"Then I'll just kill him in his sleep," she hissed and the natural ruby of her cheeks showed up brighter against the light of the lantern. "He shall die here, writhing on the sheets. His long white throat, I shall cut it deep. We all must throw away the things we play with. He'll be the same, my sweet darling."

And she put her hand against his soft cheek and gave him a kiss on the forehead. A blinding light flashed into the room, and he saw her face tightened in a manner that made him fear for her. He wanted to say more, but as the sound and smell of rain filled the dark room, he chose to remain silent.

But his silence did not stop the rain, did not stop the wails of wind and the roars of thunder, did not stop the stench from rising into the air and into the nostrils of the man in the forest. He wanted to turn away. The smell was harsh, penetrating, and rotten, but he had seen worse and smelt worse. This really was nothing new for him. With an air of firmness, and a slow pace, he stalked forward, his feet sloshing through the rain, blood, and bits and pieces of rotting corpses that littered the open space.

They were lying there by the dozens—many of them had no heads and limbs. It was such a macabre scene of ghoulish despair and a still sort of deathliness that hung there the way ghost-less mirages of the dead would. He kept walking, leaving Karin and Serizawa in his wake. Her pink eyes were so wide, and she had her hand pressed to her nose. The stench was unbearable even in the rain.

Serizawa was silent, too, as his eyes traced the lines of broken faces and crooked lips after the swords, wielded by cruel hands, were through with them. Only their headbands glimmered defiantly in the flashes as if they had been stubborn to not let the swords of their enemies damage their artificial splendour.

Itachi made a full stop when he came close to the only headband his Sharingan could see differently. He picked it out of the mud, and it shone with a different and coarse pattern compared to the fine lines of Leaf and Cloud etched into the metals so many wore upon their foreheads with pride. Bandits.

"So convenient," he rasped as his eyes wore such anger over the cold depths of his soul. He shoved it into his pants' pocket and turned away from the open graveyard that was free for the sharp beaks of the hungry scavengers. They had flown away when the rain came down. He knew they would be back again. These foolish men had been dead for three days.

"Send a letter to the Hokage," Itachi spoke and did not stop walking, "we will leave for Konoha within a week." He kept walking away from them till he disappeared beyond the trees and Serizawa could have sworn he saw such murderous anger in his eyes that he had never seen before. He did not understand his cold words: how would they finish this business within a week?

Serizawa looked back at the dead men once more and left with Karin for the next outpost . . .

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	54. Fathers at War

**Chapter Fifty-Four** : Fathers at War

 **Canon-Manga Info** : When Kakashi drew a barrier around Sasuke's budding Cursed Seal with Fuin-Jutsu, Sasuke was delirious with pain and exhaustion. He immediately fainted. Sasuke had only seen that seal and its usage once; however, he created his own Fuin-Jutsu technique to reverse it from his memory when he dragged Orochimaru out of Anko's inferior seal by using Senjutsu-infused Chakra flesh from Jūgo.

If people have read the manga with care, then they would know how amazing this feat is in terms of intelligence as Sasuke had no experience in Fuin-Jutsu or the technique to bring Orochimaru back into the world. He still doesn't. He's just incredibly brilliant and a very fast learner.

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His face was strangely white in the weak light, almost sickly. His bright blue eyes had lost their shine in these past few days. He seemed weary, worn down by the burdens of the world. He had not spoken a single word and sat quietly. Somehow, the glimmer of the evening sun was of more interest to him than anything else.

Hiashi sat opposite him, his eyes roving towards the hole in the mat. It was still there, and he never had had the time or the money to fix his own troubles. It still made him feel a sharp jab of shame, but the Clan came first—everything else was just an added burden. The shadow of the tree outside crawled slowly across Minato's face to envelop his cheek, and as if disturbed by its airy weight, he finally turned his eyes to meet his. There was a strong determination in his eyes own now. Hiashi did not know what had changed there.

Minato breathed in loudly, adjusting the last lingering vestiges of his old life, impressed upon the mighty vesture he had draped around his shoulders with such care. It was the joy of Konoha, but to him, it was besmeared with the stain of a terrible past. He pulled in another deep one, and he was suddenly reminiscent of a man who desired freedom and change. Hiashi did not like his demeanour.

"I believe now is the right time to end the marriage," he spoke in a surprisingly soft voice, but his words went through Hiashi's heart like a vengeful Kami's remorseless spear.

Hiashi's grey eyes shrank dangerously in his sockets as though he was a putrefying corpse in a lonely old grave where the tongues of the dead and teeth of the ravenous critters were his only company. He did not say anything. His words were stolen by grief and poverty—even pride. He had last bits of it, just hanging there from his heart that enjoyed few daily moments of vanity.

"Naruto has fallen ill again," he said in a heavy voice, steering his gaze again to look outside at the sun, "he is also so stubborn. I have tried. I really have. It has been so long. It is time for us to let this go."

"You make it sound so easy," Hiashi said in a strained voice, his teeth clenched. Anger was wringing his throat good. A muscle bulged in his jaw. He wanted to say something hurtful, but they were no longer young for such quarrels. Age bent men down and drove such passions out of them—it always did.

The first roll of thunder hit the house hard, but Minato sat unflinching by the table. Hiashi's house looked old: paint was chipping off the walls in so many rooms; the mats were old, and the furniture, older still; there were so many cracks and crevices his Byakugan could not even count. It was an arduous task for his eyes, and he had given up without another try. He had thought to mend the mat, at least, but everything had ended so long ago. It was a hopeless wish.

"It is easy," he breathed out softly, his shoulders drooping a little. "There is no need to prolong this mess any longer. We are old men. We have seen the times change. We should be above this." And then he got to his feet slowly, wearing the subtle shadow of the advancing darkness as the deep red of his past upon the robes faded beneath the hue of grey. Hiashi could only look on and say so little.

"Minato, I have been gathering evidence against Danzō. I can clear your name. You do not need to be so hasty," he said, and his voice tapered off to a fearful whisper. He had thought that it would bring a change upon Minato's hazy countenance, but he looked no less dejected as he did before.

Minato raised his hand to his brow and wiped at the sweat quivering upon his skin. It was a hard decision. Even Hiashi could tell. "Hiashi, I have grown weary of all this. It is time—"

"Listen to me, you fool," he cut him off and the tone of restlessness in his voice hung in the air like dust, "Danzō offered more to Yagura than just the Byakugans. I feel that he did something to trap Fugaku. I do not know why and I do not know how, but you bore the burden of a crime, and I of faithless promises he made you a part of. Do you not see? He is _still_ playing you. Naruto's illness cannot be a coincidence."

"What difference does it make?" he said and his words shocked Hiashi. The grey was flecked with anger and disbelief in his eyes. "We have no proof to pin him with anything. Your evidence is just empty words. Nobody will believe it. The council will do away with you as they did with me. You really desire to shred the last pieces of your honour with your own hands? Then you are a courageous man. I choose to be a coward now."

"Minato," he said, eyes widening, "what has happened to you, my friend? You were never this defeated. Where is the strength in you I knew and admired?"

"Children defeat you," he said, and a bitter smile trembled on his youthful face that bore the first signs of an aged man defeated by the relentless daemons from his past. "Naruto has defeated me. I have nothing left in life if I lose him, too. He is my future, and I am willing to sacrifice my life, my stained honour, for his sake. It is just a fruitless battle, a thing of the past, and I have already lived through it. It is just a memory now."

Hiashi narrowed his eyes against the light spilling out from the chink in the clouds. A puff of cool breeze blew in through the slightly ajar door, and the peach-scented air delighted his senses for just a fleeting moment. It was such a small moment of distraction, and it faded away so soon. He wanted to say something more, but his tongue was motionless in his mouth.

He watched helplessly as Minato turned around, the last light of the sun illuminating his eyes like water under the full moon. He really had such clear blue eyes. He stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder to speak, "I will send in the money Hinata deserves. You can keep the rest I offered. Consider it an apology from me." And then misshapen shadows of the garden crossed his form like a quick blur, and he left the room in silence . . .

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The firmament was a dark expanse of clouds and stars. Moon was a little shy tonight, but its sparse light shined down onto the balcony below them. His cunning Sharingan saw much more than others. There were tendrils of that quick chakra lingering in that room like a neat ravel of a harlot's hair. A masked man stepped out, and he saw his right-hand twitching again with a curious uneasiness that amused him.

A smile crawled with the hastiness of a snail on his lips, and he slightly turned his red eyes to look at the mischievous face of the Uzumaki girl he now thought to be far more useful than he had imagined.

Bright crimson flushed her cheeks, and she fondled the kunai rather suggestively in her hand. Her mannerisms were still so amusing to watch—he had not disagreed with this notion yet. "How many times have you used this seal?" he asked, and she twisted her soft, rosy lips into a naughty smile.

"Itachi-Sama, you don't like surprises?" Karin asked, pushing a few red strands out of her eyes as wind ravelled her long hair.

He smiled. "Sasuke is always so full of innocent surprises. I have learnt to . . . bear them. But I believe he has become such an apt pupil of your Fuin-Jutsu tricks by now. Surprises be damned," he said in a cool voice slightly afflicted with a bit of amusement, and she let out a soft trill of laughter in reply. "Do I amuse you?" He stepped into the darkness, and redness issued forth from his eyes so magnificently. There was concealed danger there, and her sensing made her heart suddenly quiver a little like a nervous note in a clumsy symphony.

She really could not see his face clearly, but she continued to smile that lusty smile of hers. Though there was a faint hint of challenge there in her face now, his keen eyes did not miss the innocent tricks befitting a child. "Why do ask me when you already know? Does my nervousness amuse _you_ , Itachi-Sama? You can be so beautiful and passive when you want to be. Why not show me such a courtesy?" Karin asked so softly and passed her teeth slowly over her plump lower lip in a manner as though she was actually seducing him. He found it rather . . . endearing.

A small bell chinked in the tree that grew tall in the garden. Her face was so full of a bright kind of chakra that whirled as a ferocious gyre around her breasts and genitals. She really was in a mood to play with him just to give Sasuke some footing. Her childlike designs were almost charming.

Itachi smiled and stepped out of the shadows. Moon was so cruel to half of his face; it was as white as a theatre actor's mask now. Even the smile on his lips was unnatural: frosty and cunning like an imp's. "Whistle when the moon is high. You can sing such pretty songs," he said in a deep, calm voice like he was speaking to a child and bent his head a little, his red eyes penetrating her thoughts.

There was a fleeting hint of a smile on his lips, and his countenance just mesmerized her. He was such an odd man, and as she watched him walk down the corridor towards his own chambers, letting the walls bear the burden of his blacker shadow, she could not stop her words from coming out. "You wouldn't have found Sasuke that night if it wasn't for me," she spoke, and he stopped and half-turned to look back at her. "I didn't do it for you—I did it to protect him." She let out a deep and raspy breath, her sweet red cheeks covered in the sweat of fear.

Itachi tilted his head a little to the right as if he was observing her for the first time. Then he turned around with a mirage of a smile just forming on his shadow-face and left her standing in the corridor.

When he opened the door to his chamber, a familiar scent of berries hit his senses hard. It was a little stronger than before, and it came from the cup she had put on the table. The liquid was an intoxicating sake and something else. Kikyo sat on his bed eagerly, with legs folded beneath her thighs and a fan before her face. The bright light from the lantern fought the darkness in the room and shone just on the bed, making it seem that he was about to experience quite the performance from a theatre prostitute before him.

He pushed the door and it clanked shut. That metal lock on the thing was sturdy and made to protect the customers from the bandits. The smile was gone from his face, and Sharingan had cooled off. It had become so weary to enjoy this playtime: she was just a dull lover to him now.

"I was waiting for you," she spoke and smiled widely in a manner that he could tell was fake.

"You cannot come in here as you please. It might become an irksome habit, and habits die hard," he said and took off his jacket. His face bore no signs of emotions for her eager eyes to watch and interpret, and it disappointed her again.

"I came here with a proposal," Kikyo said and did not let the smile fade for his appraising eyes. "It might interest you."

"You press your luck again, no doubt," he said with habitual indifference and placed his katana on the set of drawers. They were tall and hefty and had many drawers. He only used the top two.

"It's about Shitchi, Itachi-Sama," she spoke and there was just a tiny amount of desperation in her voice that he was easily able to sniff out. "If we can use them in the alliance against the bandits, we might gain more ground. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Your Clan's affairs are your own. They do not concern me," he said and sat down on the bed. Chill emanated from his eyes, and she shuddered at the most cold kind of indifference he exhibited.

Kikyo's lips curled, and she quickly changed her bitter smile into a seductive one. "Your cold eyes just slay the winter, don't they? They are so deathly cold on their own," Kikyo said, and a childish sweetness permeated her voice, and she looked at him and then the door playfully. She crawled on all fours towards the wall. Then she sat close to him and put her hand delicately upon the old wound again, like it always fascinated her.

He crossed his legs and looked away from her to the window. His Sharingan was cold in his prying gaze as he tried to peer into the darkness that lay on the land beyond the open window. His silence prompted her to continue: "I know it isn't, but it is an alliance, isn't it? It would be for the best if you gained their trust."

"They are your relatives," he said without looking back at her. "It is for the best if you extend a hand of friendship."

"So stubborn, Itachi-Sama," she whispered close to his ear, her hand drifting down to rest on his thigh. "Why won't you do this little thing for me? You'd be free of the burden of this mission and the scroll can be yours—without a price."

And this time, her proposal made him turn his face. He looked at her, the Sharingan shining in his eyes like an amour who had just shown herself to her, and Kikyo stared deeply into his eyes as though she was looking at them for the first time, mesmerized.

"Nothing is free. Not even you. Such generosity . . . why? I feel indebted already," he said icily and she felt mocked. "Why not tell me what is in that scroll? You will save yourself the heartache and the unnecessary trips to my chambers in your future unfriended situation." A flicker of amusement vanished suddenly from his eyes, and her blush grew deeper with anger.

"Your tongue is cruel," she said and locked her teeth to prevent any further retort. She bore the shadows he made, and her contours appeared dark beneath them; but his Sharingan did not let anything hide, let alone the tales on an eager child's face.

"You should be used to all sorts of cruelties from me by now. You enjoy them with such greedy relish, you silly child," he said in a deep whisper and a strange smile forced itself upon his lips that refused to wear it in an act of mundane defiance that was their habit, and it surprised her.

She touched her lips slowly with her fingers to catch a gasp, heat flushing her body. "Is my tongue less cruel now?" he asked a bit softly, a ghostly delight apparent on his face now as he brushed his fingers along the collar of her kimono as though he was doing it thoughtlessly; and the crests tightened and peaked there on her bosom in answer. "That dampness is not just from the lust of your dreams, is it? You desire sharp pains and little drops of blood. Why be so innocent and playful, little Kikyo, when you can just climb on my thighs and relieve yourself of this burden? I can allow you this courtesy and we can talk of the scroll some other time."

The smile was there no more, but his eyes were still red, steeped in such a ferocious deep colour that was so seductive in nature. Her hands went up, and she pulled her collars down, letting them slip down her shoulders and bosom. Then her hands went down and bunched the Kimono there, and she raised herself up a little on her knees and lifted the expensive garment to her thighs.

Itachi moved his head back and a faint, misty light from the lantern flickered on Kikyo's face. She climbed upon his lap and positioned her knees on either side of his waist, opening her thighs so wide. There was a silken thread in the damp curls on her genitals, and as he touched her there, he felt like any more was unnecessary. There was wetness at the junction, and she accepted him so easily into her lovely body.

She bore down on him and pulled him in deeper; and then she thrust against him over and over again with feral abandon and clamped and pulsed around him in delirious pleasure. A continuous song of sighs and deep breaths issued from her lips, and in-between that discordant tune, he could hear a melodious whistling. Once, twice, thrice . . . the pesky rat was scampering away to the west.

Itachi rested a hand against her back, and his other one went up to pull a pin out of her hair and, without any warning, he jabbed it into a bundle of nerves at the back of her fragile neck. She squeezed so deliciously hard at that moment, and he spilt a little inside her tight heat despite not wanting to. She sagged against him and breathed calmly. She had wasted her breaths during the song.

He laid her down on the left side of the bed; then he picked up the things he needed and wore the things he needed quickly and jumped out of the window. The drop was a long one, and he showed such a fast turn of speed when he found purchase upon the steep and slick cliff and ran down upside down to the pebbles covered ground that was just a dry, stony graveyard at this time of the year. He landed softly on his feet, feeling the pleasure still linger there in his body defiantly, begging liberation. He waited for a few minutes, and finally, Karin came running from beyond the lush bushes. Her face was red under the bright light of the full moon that swam into the dark waters of the lake.

"He's still heading west," she said between loud pants—the run was a hasty one.

"I cannot make any more crows," he admitted and moved a little to the right, away from the darkness that seemed to almost grasp him. "Is it a straight path?"

Karin nodded and spoke: "so far, it seems straight. He's fast. He's run past ten kilometres now." She put her hand to her breast to feel her heart pound wildly.

"I suppose I will just have to run faster," he said and suddenly flickered to the right and vanished at a high speed. The darkness had let go of its hold on him with an unwilling whisper.

There was no use tarrying around. She breathed in a deep and long breath and ran as fast as she could behind him. It was like following something so small. He was moving so fast that her sensing could barely keep track of his movements. She could feel him drawing closer to Kyo with each breath, and then, he had gone ahead and surprised him.

Kyo skidded to a halt and stumbled forward to catch his balance. He was a clumsy Sensor, but one did not need to be an expert to feel the powerful Chakra of an Uchiha. He fumbled with the sheath behind his back and pulled the sword out with clumsy haste. Raiton ran over its edges. It was rough, but it had made his blade sharp enough to cut through rock.

Itachi slowly appeared from midst the mass of shadows hanging between trees. A smile touched his eyes and slowly filled their depths, and they changed colour, turning and transforming into his favourite toy: Sharingan.

Cold sweat kicked in, and he moved slightly to the right and then to the left. He was impatient, and Itachi could not help but smile at his behaviour. "Why so impatient, Kyo? I just want to talk," he said, and his voice was smooth like silk in a maker's hands.

"I'm in a hurry, Itachi-Sama," he said in a rough and raspy voice as though he had swallowed a large soldier pill, and it impeded his breathing, sweat trickling down his brow. "You'll have to forgive my impudence."

"How unfortunate," he said, red shining ominously in his face in the darkness, "I thought you could have taken me to the Cloud emissary you were about to poison. That man is a fool. You can spare his family some heartache."

Colour bled out from his face, and he looked down to his feet as if it had spread out over the ground. "What're you talking about? I'm—"

"You smell of berries," Itachi cut him off and shrank his eyes shrewdly, a smile appearing on his lips, "it is a strong smell. The deep red ones, are they not? They look lovely on a woman's lips, sometimes. I do not see any colour smeared upon your lips. Is it a lovely surprise? I never took you for a catamite for the old aristocrats."

Kyo's eyes widened and green veins prominently swelled in his neck with anger. His face turned deep red and murderous. "You bastard!" he shouted, spit flying out of his mouth. He readied his weapon and pointed it at Itachi.

"All honorifics thrown away so soon? I was merely giving a facetious remark to lighten the mood. You are a very sensitive Shinobi," he said and took a few steps towards him and watched as he stumbled back to find refuge between the trees.

At that moment, Karin came into view from the right and Kyo's eyes brightened. He jumped back and stuck his feet to the bark with chakra and launched a measly Katon attack at her that she was too slow to dodge. Itachi disappeared from his vision and Karin vanished the next moment. He jumped down the tree and made a frantic dash to the mouth of the cave. He ran into the gullet of the cave and darkness swallowed him up. Fear pulsed in harmony with blood beating in his veins as he navigated the tunnels to reach his hideout.

He just had to make it to the flare and ignite it to alert Kikyo. Damn the Sage! He should have taken his supplies with him last night! He tumbled into the room he had made, knocking the chair to the ground. Soft grass grew there and it was cushiony. He twisted his neck to look back when a blur hit him, and he got thrown back against the cold wall. He flew across the ground and crashed into the stones jutting out of the wall—hard. His breath whooshed out of him, and he fell down to the ground, clenching his jaws together tightly. Few of his ribs were broken. He could feel it, and it hurt like a bitch!

Kyo tried to scramble to his feet, but Itachi grabbed him by the jaws and lifted him up to his feet. His hand trembled as he struggled to reach for the stash of kunais in the bag on his back. "Go for that kunai again, and you will miss your hand dearly," he said, and his breath was like poison.

Fear spread through his veins so quickly that his mind went numb. Itachi threw him back again with such force that he fell back and bounced off the wall like a ragdoll, and this time, he felt like Itachi's grasp on his jaws was tighter, more cruel. "Loosen your grasp and drop that sword. I am warning you. Do not test my patience," Itachi warned, red filling Kyo's vision, and he could see nothing else other than an endless shade and a blurry image of a young woman standing behind the red-eyed monster, and he screamed and blood oozed from his vision like a silent apology.

"Sit down," Itachi ordered and his grip slackened. He felt that Itachi had mocked him as he slumped down to ground without commanding his battered body, spit leaking from the corner of his mouth.

Serizawa came running into the cave, his Sharingan glowing. "The army has been led to the borders with my clone on your orders, Itachi-Sama," he said, flicking Kyo a curious glance, "I killed and burnt all the men who went with me."

"Wonderful," he said in a flat tone without looking at Serizawa, and Kyo could hear the foul taste of triumph in his cool voice. "Your hospitality is so lacking." He looked down at the chair that lay toppled over close to him.

Serizawa immediately put the chair back up on its legs. "How kind of you, Serizawa," he said, sat down, and slipped one leg over the other. "Look at me and talk, Kyo—the foolhardy Shinobi of Cloud."

He did not want to, he really did not, but Itachi had caressed the words with his voice and tongue. They were cruel, yet so sweet and seductive. Kyo was just an obedient hound with a rope around his neck, and all he could do was obey; so he craned his flushed, defeated face at his tormenter and smiled in obedience.

Kyo's eyes were unfocused and bleary. He saw nothing other than the red in Itachi's eyes. They beckoned him, and he just wanted to reveal all of his secrets before him without a care in the world.

"Did you really steal my Anbu marking from the middle drawer? Though I am curious, how did you open it without making any noise? That thing sticks," he said with a sudden flare of innocent curiosity in his face, and Kyo nodded and slurred out a few words about ' _oil'_ and being a ' _good mechanic_ '—mundane stuff.

"Well, go on, we are patiently waiting for your yarns," he said with an expression of encouragement, urging him to continue.

Karin looked at Itachi and noticed that he was smiling. From this angle, he looked just like Sasuke without the extra show of passions. His shadow fell heavy and hard on the man slumped before them, and it bore him down with its monstrous weight. Flames guttered on the candles' wicks and few of them had melted into generous pools of wax in the holes. Wax had dribbled down and dried up along the walls: this man never intended to return here again.

"I—I'm a Cloud Shinobi," he said in a coarse, uncertain voice, his face looking confused and clammy. He was pouring out so much sweat. Itachi's Genjutsu had given him such a high fever. "Kikyo has bought men in Cloud. S-She gets money from her lands and some men in Konoha. I don't know who. I don't know who. I don't know—" He lost his train of thought and mumbled and bled from his eyes again that the shadows and the red lines upon his face made him look like a court jester.

"Itachi-Sama, your Genjutsu's too powerful. He might not—"

"Do not interrupt, Serizawa," Itachi commanded and Serizawa fell silent. He looked into Kyo's eyes, and he winced in pain spreading fast at the back of his head. "Speak. I did not ask you to entertain us with your silence."

Letting out a loud whine, he sniffled and coughed pitifully. And then he began again, a little faster than before, as though he was really eager to please him: "she plans on killing Shinobis from C-Cloud through her Uncle's Shitchi forces, and you to sabotage the treaty. Raikage had asked her to investigate the assignation attempt on Kuma. He . . . he thinks Danzō was behind it, but he has grown suspicious of her activities."

Sounds of thunder echoed through the cave and a cool wind rushed inside. It smelt of the damp earth and flowers outside. Kyo had fallen silent to breathe in the soothing wind. He took in short, broken breaths and screwed his eyes up tight and opened them; they were red and teary. Itachi smiled in the momentary refuge of darkness. Itachi was just a father at war with his wayward, wild son, but his son amused him, often: Sasuke had covered his tracks so well. His brother's games were so innocent, so sweet, and they delighted him, sometimes. The blame was on Danzō, and his name was clean.

"She wants to take over Shitchi," he choked out and coughed, "she wants to rule all of the Okami Clan. She thinks it was her father's right."

"And you are her informant," he spoke and Kyo flinched as if his words hurt him. "Who is the snake in the bandits? After all, it is not possible for her to ambush them without control. They dance on the tip of her fingers. She is such a foolish child."

"Meru . . . " he breathed out and fell back, exhausted. The Genjutsu had throttled his senses. He had no capacity to even weave a small pleasant thought. His mind was just a container for the red oozing in through the cracks Itachi had made, with a sharp chisel of Sharingan.

Itachi stood up, took a few steps, and looked down into his eyes. "You are the one who will end this game . . . " and then his words trailed off, and he fell silent, his Sharingan blazing—a flame in his eye. And Itachi poured a tale of murder into his fragile mind, and he took it as a word from the lips of the Sage. Nothing was more divine than the sweetest honey that dripped from Itachi's tongue. In Kyo's mind it was him and him alone . . . and everything else had vanished.

The night bird's song buzzed and poured into her ears, and she woke up. The room swam into view, and she slowly sat up, her eyes taking stock of her surroundings. They fell upon the red there in the shadows. She sat up straight and adjusted her kimono, like the nakedness shamed her, and peered into the dim yellow light that limned his face. He was sitting in the chair with the sword lying on his thighs. He was looking at her a bit keenly.

"The high of the pleasure hits you hard," Itachi remarked, and the cold expression on his face relaxed into a cunning look that merely touched it like the soft touch from a ghost.

"You can be so crass and vulgar yourself, sometimes," Kikyo replied, smoothing down the wrinkles in the fabric with an irritated expression. He had done something to her, though she just did not know what. Her eyes wandered to the tea, but it had gone cold in the cup hours ago—he had not touched it.

"Do you really pretend outrage when you stare longingly into the mirror every morning? I am surprised that you find your own antics so abrasive and shocking," he said without a care and turned the sword in his hands so delicately as though it was carved out of fragile glass. When she said nothing, he spoke again: "do you desire to continue this free spectacle for me, or can I finally retire for the night? It really is your choice."

"Oh, so rude!" she spat at him in anger, gathered her kimono with care, and stormed out of the room, leaving the same strong scent of berries in her wake . . .

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	55. Death of a Crow

**Chapter Fifty-Five** : Death of a Crow

 **AN** : I'm not much of a poet, but I enjoyed writing this.

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 _A butterfly flies with such precarious wings,_

 _It shudders playfully whilst it sings._

 _Flying relentlessly towards the red,_

 _It made a little wound that bled._

 _In the glare of that light, its mind was lost,_

 _It did not care for the terrible cost._

 _But once it knew, it was too late,_

 _It had made a terrible blunder in haste._

 _Poor thing, its wing caught fire,_

 _It died silently in the mire_

She was always meant to eat her words like a picky child ate his sweets. Her games were so dull and instilled a sense of lethargy in him now. Other times, they just grated on his nerves the way something big and heavy, made of metal, was dragged upon the rocks. He was through with them and her superficial charms. They were theatre-performances one saw daily simply out of boredom.

After that one order, Tsunade's replies came no more. It had been a week since he had heard from her last. Kai had sent him a letter last night that Sasuke was all right and everything was going along smoothly. At least, his words gave him the reassurances he needed; that his brother was safe and that he had not made a foolish bargain to protect him. He would damn the scroll and every word of treachery spoken to him if it all came to naught. He never fought fruitless battles and never devised any blundering plans. Everything should yield results. Everything!

That was his motto. So he never involved himself with anyone or any situation where he lost. He saw things through to the end, played his games right, and made perfect little plans to trap the prey. He cornered it from here and he cornered it from there, till it ran and ran, huffed and puffed with exhaustion, and was left vulnerable to the final strike that ended it at last. That was how his games reached their end—fitting symphonies for peculiar journeys he had grown so fond of.

But he was no god. He killed his foes, but he could never hurt Sasuke: a foe with the same blood as he. He was never created to commit such a terrible sin. Sasuke was such a fine paradox of his ideals. Life had crafted him with such care to mock him sweetly, innocently. Sasuke had grown so treacherous and moody and angry over the massacre of their Clan. Itachi could not say he understood his passions. Their deaths were a matter of the past. Why did he not look into the future? He asked himself this question often now; and yet, as brilliant as he was, his mind was ill-equipped to solve such a wonderful mystery.

Itachi really wished he could breathe great sighs of relief, but the precocious son always pushed him to be a little nervous. He feared for his life and that fear wrought delicious nightmares in his mind. Sharingan was such a wild beast, and its glare created ominous dreams when he slept. Sasuke's mischievous wildness had made such a silly man out of him. He feared his own dreams, and they haunted him, relentless like ravenous crows that nipped at his heels for one juicy bite.

The innocent child did not listen, he did not obey, and he was forced to recreate the rules of his own playtime over and over again. What a tiresome task it was. And it wore him down, and he did not know how to win this game anymore. Sasuke wanted nothing to do with his games. He was like a child that kicked at the fragile temple he had made meticulously out of sand and watched it sag to the ground with great amusement—only to demand that he should be entertained.

He was at a loss. The rules of their games were so different: Sasuke took delight in the assumption that he could, some day, beat him at his own games. He was always like that even when he was a child, and this innocent wish amused him, sometimes, for it was endearing; so he tried to read him and he did the same. It was just a game to them both. Itachi wanted to give temper to his wild nature, and Sasuke desired his defeat. Youth made such wild men out of boys. A man's nature really was a malleable piece of clay that was to be moulded by the inexperienced hands of youth—hands that did not know any better, did not know the experience of patience through failures . . .

A tale-telling heart needed the tales to weave and craft them in earnest. Perhaps he, too, needed time and patience to mould his brother, his son, his darling. His father had been clumsy, but he chose to learn a few things from him. He just did not know what the future would yield for him.

But others were not like Sasuke. When the rules did not concern the profundity of love and benevolence and mercy, he was ruthless, remorseless, so unkind. His foes chose to play and lost so terribly. There were no aspects and demeanours to delight his senses, no smiles to fill his heart with love and wonder. Everything was crude and easy. The passions were quick and hot. He killed them, and his designs completed themselves perfectly, neatly, wonderfully. The perfect soldier—the perfect killer.

It went along easily, and it was in his nature to be treacherous to Konoha's enemies. He killed them, and they became new tales for his heart. It throbbed and pulsed with contentment at the thoughts that he had protected what he cherished. The passions came easy. They delighted him and made him ache with an abandonment that was no more than small acts of pleasures.

Itachi was a man. He was no god. He accepted it, touched the skin as it shuddered like the dry trembling boughs in the autumn wind. They needed water to fill their depths, and so, he filled hers and relished the primal act every man enjoyed. There was a slight flutter of fingers against his throat: she so loved that part of him, and then, as if out of habit, she pricked his skin with the needle.

Blood oozed out and sluggishly clung to his sweaty skin, and then she smeared it there with her thumb, making it look like a misshapen wing of a lonely butterfly that had caught fire. He did not care. He had his own games to play. He did not have to break his rules for her. She was a foe and her time was short.

So Itachi looked into her eyes, and they lighted with a new fire—a dangerous fire. She stared deeply, entranced by its beauty like a child. It was as if the moth's poison had imbued her body with a disease, and it shattered itself completely, feeling such pain and such pleasure that the wall upon her mind crumbled, and he peeked into her thoughts with ease.

Funny little, tricky little thing . . . it could not hide from the eyes of the beast. The red light trained on her, and her body was awash with a desire to squeeze him good; and so she did, and she was wild in the moments as she fought against the sweet assault of death upon her flesh-temple and the prisoner-spirit that everything in her shuddered at the unseen motion it had made in its direction.

He spilt wantonly, savouring the way her body clutched him harder and harder. The more he probed, the harder she squeezed. It was like a game of quid pro quo, but he made all the rules. The irony almost delighted him. Then it was done just like that. The borrowed breath of life returned to her form, and it trembled in acknowledgement. She dragged in a loud breath, shaking beneath him like a puppeteer's doll pulled by the strings around his fingers to give the audience an unreal show of reality. A curious expression came to her face then. She had erupted rather generously upon the bed.

She looked into his eyes again, trapped in the trance of a faint memory, but the red she saw was the ordinary red. It just stared back at her, and the beast she thought she saw was gone. Her mind was at ease, and she felt as though she had won a game on an empty reassurance. He pretended that he did not see the soul-chilling fear invade bits of her face and eyes—his body, a temple of feverish contentment after such a satisfying eruption. She lived in a fool's paradise of her own making . . .

Karin's seals were crafty and strange. Kikyo's guard felt the tremors of a foreign chakra in the worst possible ways. There was a rictus upon his face that was reserved for fools, and when his Genjutsu struck his mind, he spilt out more words than necessary. Kikyo really had all the rowdy bandits under her little thumb. It was a small army she had created when she was young. It grew and made more factions, and comically, one faction did not know fully about the other.

Their Heads contacted each other through common birds and did the bidding of rich men willingly. Men that filled the lower ranks were slaughtered for bigger prices, and they remained blissfully unaware of the secret alliance between the Heads. It was a cluster of fascinating lies. Their lives were of little value to Meru and his men. His group sat at the nexus of these scruffy hooligans he had gathered on her orders to prattle on about freedom and liberty.

Kikyo really was hell-bent on taking over Okami Clan through Sharingan's illusions. Those foolish men in Shitchi never had the luxury of Uzumaki seals she had stuffed into her sleeves. She must have gotten them cheap from Danzō; so her Sensors waited around, alert and vigilant in their pursuits, to detect an intrusion into their minds. Classic Root. Classic Danzō.

Itachi had little to lay on him, but he would have to be a fool to not see reason in this logic. Danzō was protecting the scroll, and he simply wanted to keep him here. For what purpose? And that thought had filled his soul with poison, and he had chosen to be so callous to cut her down. She was not worth the trouble. If he waited around any longer, it would prove to be disastrous for him—for Sasuke. It was not as if Tsunade was willing for a diplomatic solution. It was better this way.

Now, he stood on the apex of a small cliff, looking down at the path that undulated through the forest for his eyes. A soft drizzle caressed his face and throat: the wounds she had made there had healed. A small army of thugs stood by the trees, lying in wait to ambush him. This cluster of trees was meant to become a natural lid on their mass-grave.

Itachi flashed down fast and grabbed the man he thought to be their leader by his jaws. His fingers clawed, and he thrashed about violently, unable to free himself as got lifted off the ground. Itachi dislocated and crushed his jaws. The man fell down, and he appeared to have a puppet's wide and silly grin on his face. Karin gasped as she watched, too horrified to look and too mesmerised to look away, as he cut, maimed, and burnt men under the light touch of the sweetest rain she had experienced in a long time.

The scent of it was defiled by his cruelty, and the ground glared with blood. Bodies crashed onto rocks and shattered like theatre marionettes as she looked on. _This_ was the darling brother Sasuke chose to mimic? Karin did not know what to feel about his decisions. He always had been an odd one. She loved him but also wanted him to free himself from Itachi's clutches; but it did not feel as though Sasuke wanted to twist away from the grip Itachi had on him—too blinded by love for him . . .

He was a babe in his brother's arms, and Itachi played with him out of love and a bizarre sort of kindness that carried the taint of cruelty. The perfect mask of a father he wore upon his face was streaked with the most unkind shadows he brought with himself from the battlefield. His hands were decorarted with the blood of fools and innocents. She really did not desire for Sasuke to become like him—she really did not.

It was over so quickly. In a matter of a few minutes, he had laid waste to a small army of seventy men. Karin sensed and felt nothing. So she took in the cold air filled with the stench of blood and ran down. Itachi stood quietly over the man he had killed only moments ago. He was staring at his face like something there made him a little curious.

She stopped and he turned around, and for a fleeting moment, she felt an intent in him that made her stagger back. The feeling vanished, and his eyes cooled down like a fire going out without a hiss. He held out his sword under the forgiving rain and watched as the blood slipped down the sides and became food for the ground. These bodies would become a feast for all the scavengers in the morning.

"Can you Sense him?" Itachi asked and raised his sword to look at the gleam in the perfect edges. It looked good as new. Sasuke had told her that Itachi sharpened it himself, often. She could tell that he liked the sharp sword the way a satisfied smile touched his cold eyes.

"No," Karin said and sensed his chakra roil in his body without an emotion, a fire without a heat. Her gaze wandered to the right to look at the cruel expressions frozen upon the faces of those dead men.

"Were you really the reason Sasuke managed to kill Fū?" he asked suddenly and stashed the sword away. Karin's heart beat so loudly. It had jumped up to beat inside her throat. Serizawa appeared from the right, and she could smell the blood on his hands. His red eyes did not give her the reassurance she needed.

She dragged in a cold, cold breath and stared him right in the eye as though he did not scare her, though, she knew that his Sharingan could see all of the tales in her child-heart. "Sasuke bought my freedom," she said a little rudely, her cheeks going red with anger, "I owe him everything and I owe you nothing! Why do you play games with me? You know what he did! You know—you've always known!" Then she was breathing hoarsely and looking deep into his eyes with the carelessness of a child.

And his smile surprised her. Anger washed away, and she looked around at the fabric of that sweet air inwrought with so many red butterflies . . . slowly changing into autumn moths. Their wings become their fabric and purple mottled the red, a lingering disease. They fluttered about him, enthralled by the chakra he exuded. Then they vanished . . .

"How long do you plan on playing with him, knowing that he does not love you?" His gaze wandered her body as he appraised her worth. "You have such a big heart for a little child," he said in a way as if he mocked her and looked to Serizawa with an authoritative expression upon his face now. The cold had given him a little reddish hue about the cheeks to fashion a make-believe mask of an ordinary man for his face. He was no man: he was a monster!

"I couldn't find Meru. He must have moved on to another outpost a day ago," he said and there was a hint of shame on his pink face.

"You continue to disappoint me, Serizawa," he said and there was a subtle note of irritation in his flat tone of voice, and Karin sensed a sudden flare of anxiety rise in Serizawa's breast. He was afraid.

He bowed his head and spoke no more. His Sharingan had crumbled beneath Itachi's harsh words. His limbs slightly shuddered, and he kept looking down towards his feet in such a servile manner.

At that moment, a crow dragged itself out of Itachi's body. His eyes went wide. He stumbled forward, as if someone had harshly yanked him by the neck, and then slumped down to his knees in a terrible pain and shock that invaded his body and mind like a deadly assailant. The poison . . . it burnt up veins; it hurt so much that he lost the natural capacity to pull in some air. Serizawa rushed to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, but he did not move and shook helplessly all over. He stared, with wild eyes, at the crow that struggled to gain shape by his knee. It was premature—an ugly foetus.

Then he looked at his trembling hands and the greying veins. His chakra had stopped for a moment, and now, it was frantically vibrating in him to find its right pace again. One moment passed, then two, then three, and he finally dragged in a lungful of air. His Sharingan flickered, his vision betrayed him for a moment, but it recovered swiftly to look keenly at the tiny chakra particles flow smoothly through his body again. He had neglected it for so long, far too long, that his body had decided to smooth out the chakra on its own.

What a treacherous and feeble body of a man—he really was no Kami. He watched as the slimy crow opened its beak wide like a hungry babe dragged out of a womb and looked at him with a deformed Sharingan, as if it thought him to be its creator—its mother. Its caw tore through the air, filling it with a new dread, and he raised his eyes and stared almost fearfully at the one he had made before, only to watch it vanish in a bundle of wispy black feathers. His strained eyes followed the movement of each one as they floated down one by one, turning into tendrils of bright chakra before they hit the ground.

Karin sat down beside him and pressed her wrist to his dry lips. He pushed it out of his face. Such an easy escape did not interest him. He was so used to pain that he overwhelmed it, and it slowly mellowed to a dull ache that thrilled his body and spirit.

And Itachi raised his defeated eyes again to look where the crow was only a moment ago as though he could _actually_ see Sasuke's sly smile as he flashed into the forest, leaving Kai to his own devices as he remained oblivious to the guard-crow's fate. And then, he uttered a low, soft whisper as though he was mourning the death of a lifeless crow, mourning the death of a child he had birthed: "no . . . "

He looked down at it again and it died, staring back into his eyes with a last mournful look of a dying babe that needed a sweet assurance from his eyes that something sweet awaited it beyond this life's fate, and he was speechless . . .

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	56. One Hit and One Miss

**Chapter Fifty-Six** : One Hit and One Miss

 **Canon-Manga Info** : References to Sasuke's Kenjutsu skills and speed have been made before. A lot of people misinterpret that Bee battle: there, Sasuke tossed the Raiton charged sword into his other hand (to hit himself with Raiton to nullify Bee's attacks and make then non-fatal as the VIZ states) before Bee could make a single stab. Bee confirms it; furthermore, Bee commented that Sasuke deflected his Bijū-chakra (three-tails) cloaked attack at the same speed his brother (Ae) does in his version-one (V1) Raiton cloak. Sasuke was gravely injured from his battle with Itachi, too—a fact Jūgo (immediately after the battle ends), Obito, and Zetsu confirm.

And that is not all. Mifune has the quickest draw in the entire manga, and yet, he couldn't land a hit on Sasuke: the latter charged his sword and then blocked his attack, prompting the former to praise his draw. Fuu couldn't even sense him till he didn't cut down all of the banners and stopped moving (standing upside down above Danzō's head) in the Kage-conference room. Heck, Ao has a Byakugan and he didn't see when he even came into the room and sliced through all of the banners. I even count the scene that led Orochimaru to comment that "Sasuke's a genius greater than him": Sasuke took down well over a thousand Chūnin and Jōnin-class Shinobis (which are strewn about the fields) without spilling a "single drop of blood"; so none of these things are being exaggerated here in regards to Sasuke.

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He ran amidst the cradle of quiet trees. There were traces of cool rain upon the ground, slick, glistening spots around the wet stones. A sudden puff of wind made all trees shush in union again, swiftly followed by a cascade of dry leaves. It was a futile protest from their trembling limbs. His eyes caught sight of the man standing with his back to him, and he slowed down his running immediately.

He puffed and blew, reaching to his back to pull out that cold water-bottle: Konoha's weather did not suit him. Leaves crunched beneath his well-used sandals, and the man in front slowly turned around; he had the same stern and clever mien, though his eyes had a slight hint of impish delight that threatened to spill over the rest of his face. Presently, he was holding a small white hawk in his hands.

"I thought ya liked animals," he said as he made his way around the man, his eyes fixed on the bird that was as calm as a sleeping babe in his hands. "If ya use Kai's Genjutsu technique on it, it'll buy the farm in a few minutes. So mean, Sasuke."

"I'll do nothing of the sort," Sasuke said in a soft voice, his Sharingan flaring to life as he looked deep into the hawk's small eyes. "It'll be free of the Genjutsu as soon as it makes it presence known above their camp. It might stall for a second, but it'll recover swiftly."

Sasuke brushed his thumbs against the feathers, stroked the head gently, and watched as the golden threads in its irises bled red. Its heart beat loudly for a fleeting second, but the soft veil of Genjutsu he had thrown on its innocent mind snared its senses too soon. It stared back at his eyes mechanically, enchanted by their red glow. Then, as soon as he slackened his grip, it flew away towards the camp as though it knew in its small heart to be _that_ place where it truly wanted to go.

"Well, that does it," he said and took one noisy sip from the bottle again, his eyes looking into the direction of the bird; it had disappeared behind the tall cliffs to the east.

"Suigetsu, did you bring what I asked?" he asked and turned around to face him. Excitement had made his cheeks, ears, and neck a bit red. His eyes had cooled down like the summer's breeze at night, but the delightful look of victory still hovered there quite persistently. He had beaten Itachi, and it was making his heart dance with such joy. He would get what he wanted today, and his brother would not know a thing.

Suigetsu reached to his back, pulled out a small scroll, and tossed it at him. Sasuke caught it and wasted no moment in unrolling it to summon the things he needed. He sat down and spread it on the wet ground and then pressed his thumb between his teeth to injure the skin there. A tiny bubble of blood popped out of the wound, and he pressed it against the scroll's surface and created a long streak of red towards the symbols.

A bag instantly appeared on the scroll. It was a small one he usually carried on long missions with himself. He craned his stern face at Suigetsu and spoke, "your clone isn't loitering about out there, is he?"

"I cancelled the pretty lil' thing before I came here ta Romance ya," he said and bent down to pull out a white Root mask. Its mouth was shaped like a monkey with red streaks running around the eyes.

Sasuke stood up and strapped the common Root sword to his back. The rays spilt out from between the limbs of dry trees and touched the ground as a pallid, weak light. The sun was a little kind to them today. He made a few hand-seals, and immediately, a copy of himself popped up before him.

His Sharingan sang to the tune of his heart again as he looked deep into his doppelganger's eyes and touched the bare skin of his neck, feeding him his own Chakra. It raced through it, imbuing it with a power it would not otherwise have and planted images in its head. It had to go along perfectly: one small mistake would cost him everything.

Suigetsu did the same and watched as a bubble of water took his form with a toothy grin spreading across its pasty face. "My clone's so jolly unlike yors," he said and stepped back whilst cupping his chin as if he was surveying his artistry.

He heard a sweet song of a bird drift to them from somewhere, and a cool air followed in its wake. The wind was flowing in from the north. It would rain soon. A battle would be fought in a muddy bog close to the outpost. He flicked his head to indicate that the clone had to go. It did not speak and rushed off in the direction of the meeting place with the other one.

Sasuke looked back to Suigetsu, his eyes fire-struck with the menacing light of Sharingan, his face alight with an expression that made his Suigetsu's tingle with a bad sort of fear. "Put the seal on my shoulder," he commanded and pulled his sleeve up. Suigetsu stepped forward and made a few quick hand-seals, and then he tapped the shoulder once.

"Am alone with such a good lookin' man under the shade of the tree," he said and pulled out a tag from his pocket and plastered it against his skin. "Ya know what they say about two men bein' _all_ alone in the forest—"

"What do they say?" he asked and touched his shoulder to look at the ink as it seeped into his skin, and within seconds, the tag disappeared.

"They say many things, me lovely friend. But they mostly call 'em tooty-frooties!" he said in a cheeky voice and pressed the silky white mask over his face. "So let's touch each other, but let's touch each other gingerly."

"Still can't let go of the crass jokes you learnt from Rain, can you? Say something like this in front of Nii-Sama, and you'll be in for a surprise," he said and he, too, pressed the mask over his face. It rippled and slowly took the form of another face. Then he took out the fox-mask from the bag and turned it around.

"Ya mental? Like hell I will—hey, why do I get a monkey one? That's fair!" Suigetsu protested and put the mask on grudgingly.

"Because you said that you're the jolly one," he replied and created a soft smile on a different face that was covered with the shadows of dry leaves above them.

Sasuke made a few hand-seals and the bag disappeared again. He spat out a little spark of fire and the scroll burnt to ashes by his feet. He turned around and Suigetsu followed. Suddenly, he stopped before a freshwater stream, his eyes looking at the slick stones that lay at the bottom, covered with layers of fungus.

He turned his head and spoke, "make another one."

"Why?" he asked, stopping before him. The sun had momentarily broken through the clouds and it was hot on his skin. For a fleeting moment, it bounced off a silver stone in the water and blinded him. He did not like where this was going.

"Just do it—we're running out of time," he spoke again and there was a slight note of anger in his voice. Suigetsu did not protest. He knew the hand-seals by heart; so using the stream as a water source this time, he created another one of himself and watched him mimic his worried expression. It rose out of the water and attained a perfect shape within seconds.

"What now?" he asked and looked from the clone's face to the dark, strange eyes behind the fox-mask. The Sharingan was in a deep slumber. He could awaken it if he desired, but he had no reason; then a different colour of contempt rose from their deep depths and consumed the bluish irises that, for a moment, Suigetsu thought he saw the trick of Sasuke's favourite toy in his eyes. It was gone.

"Find Sakura when the battle starts," he whispered in a hoarse voice that was not his and bent his head forward to peer into the veil of an unfamiliar gaze upon his eyes, "bring her to me in the forest. Spin a story of an injured teammate. I want to end this today." Then he just turned around and started running towards the outpost.

Suigetsu breathed out a loud sigh and spoke to his clone in a hushed and worried voice, his eyes darting back and forth between the two. He did not know who to obey: the younger precocious one, or the older sinister one? It was like being caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, and he was sure that he would land in hot water either way . . .

Kai stared at the small flowers tossing in the wind. It had gained strength and was a cooler than usual. He raised his gaze slightly when Sasuke came into view from behind the trees. The mischievous man from Rain was right behind him. His customary grin gave him an aspect of a man who always had a terrible thought in his mind.

"It took you a while to come back," Kai said and watched as a small frown appeared on Sasuke's face in irritation.

"If you're so quick on your feet, then you could've done it. I'm sure Nii-Sama would be happy enough to promote you to an even higher rabk," Sasuke said, appearing as frigid as before. The small patches of red on his skin gave him such a strange mask of momentary passions—he almost looked shy.

Kai did not say anything. He lifted his gaze slightly, and his Sharingan rose to the surface of his eyes to look beyond the trees. He could not see Itachi's chakra anywhere! His eyes returned to Sasuke's blank face. He did not seem all that worried.

"Where's Itachi-Sama's crow?" he asked and looked from the sharp teeth shining in Suigetsu's mouth to the trees again. Nothing. The crow had vanished!

"I don't know. I'm not exactly its keeper," he said, and this time, a small smile disturbed that cold countenance to soften the scowl on his face. He was being mischievous. He could tell.

Kai turned around to face him fully. This would land him into a lot of trouble. His eyes roved towards the tree again and many sounds poured into his ears, but he still could not hear the crow's caws. "Did you do something to the bird, Sasuke? Did you?" he asked in a voice that was touched by a bit of worry and took a step forward to grab hold of Sasuke's shoulders. His palms were sweating profusely now.

Sasuke slightly turned his eyes and head and looked at Kai's fingers gripping his shoulder. Then he directed his gaze back to the man he could not say he was ever fond of. He was too servile—a nasty sycophant in his eyes. He had no idea what his brother ever saw in him, but Sasuke knew that he gave Kai his spot in Anbu to get him off his back. He would soon learn what it meant to be truly unfair.

"I told you," he broke off, bending his head forward, his eyes coming alive with an angry glint, "I don't know where it is. Go on a wild goose chase if you feel like it. I'm not looking for it."

Kai was still staring keenly at the shadows of many leaves lying upon Sasuke's right cheek when a flare rose up high into the sky: it lit up that portion with a deep red colour. He let go of Sasuke's shoulders and frantically looked at the outpost that was not that far away from their location. It was under attack!

He gritted his teeth and clenched his fingers into a hard fist. This was too convenient. He did not know how to lay the blame on him. It was no use. Kai looked over his shoulder and tried to see beneath the mask of composure, but Sasuke was as impish as ever.

"Let's go," he spoke in a hoarse voice barbed with distrust, and started running towards the thin plume of smoke that was rising up into the sky.

Sasuke looked at Suigetsu, exchanging a mischievous smile with him, and ran behind Kai into the smoke the wind was pushing in their direction.

A cool wind brought noises of metal clashing against metal and roars of Shinobis to them. He shrouded himself under the mantle of shadows and bushes, watching as their clones ran towards the outpost that lay in ruins. It really was not their business. Sasuke adjusted his mask and flicked his head to indicate to Suigetsu that they had to move. The bandits were advancing, and they did not have much time on their hands to mess this up.

They sped through the noise and the smoke, running over the water in the ridges that were immersed and slippery and muddy with rainwater. The clouds were moving in, bringing in an earthy smell that overpowered the stench of flammable-powder that refused to lift. The rain was soft at first, but then it turned heavy as it flattened the grass and dug up the ground.

Sasuke and Suigetsu powered through relentlessly, feeling the rain splatter against their white masks. Their heels dug into the ground with a purpose, the chakra there keeping their footing secure and firm. At last, they arrived at the next outpost. It was a mess: guts and blood of so many Shinobis had become a fertiliser for the ground. It stank to high heaven!

He looked around and found no one alive. His Sharingan broke through the chakra barriers upon his eyes. It burnt into the film for a second to take a peek at his surrounds. Arms and legs lay strewn about like discarded pieces of dolls. The gentle rain allowed the big flies to swarm about them.

Few men appeared from behind the wooden tower that was still burning in some places: it had probably been set alight with crude oil. Sasuke reached up and dug his fingers beneath the layer of the mask and pulled it off with the Anbu one. Suigetsu did the same and stepped forward to stand beside him. The masks did not have enough chakra to last through any battle. They needed to save it for Torune.

The burly one in front stopped at the sight of him, and the nasty grin on his face spread wider, revealing uneven yellow teeth and black gums. He was tall, about seven feet he imagined, and carried the largest axe he had ever seen in an iron-grip. It looked like a red guillotine. His chest was wide and big and riddled with green veins he could count easily without his Sharingan. The four men behind him came to a halt, two standing on his either side now like a small army.

Sasuke smelt the foetid reek they exuded. The bandits had played him. He had never ordered them to attack any other outposts, but they had their own plans; but it did not matter; he would bury these last ones here and would offer a small prayer of gratitude. This place would be their grave.

"Well, lookie here," he spoke in a loud, rough voice, "I didn't know Konoha had such lovely things who posed as Shinobis." The men behind him started their wild and uncontrolled hysterics as if he had shared the funniest joke in the world.

"Who sent you here?" Sasuke asked, and his hand reached down to lock to the hilt. It was as smooth as a woman's skin, with a perfect pattern etched into its surface like a man's poetry upon a scroll.

"Why does it matter, lovely? The village girl I had caught didn't satisfy me—too tiny for my cock. She ran away with piss an' blood leakin' down her thighs. Dirty whore! I was lookin' around for a feisty one to take to my bed tonight. I think you would do just fine. Make my last one look like a one-eyed crone, you do. And she was such a pretty thing, too," he said and touched the large prayer beads around his neck. His veins bulged and twitched and he turned red in the face as he let out another loud laugh simply out of necessity. He looked at his companions for approval, and they joined in the laughter.

"Did Meru send you to attack these outposts?" Sasuke asked, and the man's laughter trailed into silence at the sight of Sharingan shining in the velvet-like mist. "That was easy to see. I can see the stones I had given him are in your pocket. I would like to take them back as he didn't keep his promises."

His face twisted and warped and he swung his axe once through the air, cleaving it clean like a cloth. "Be silent, boy, or I'll put something you don't like where you don't want it," he rasped, spit trailing down his chin as he grabbed the large handle of the axe with his other hand to hold it in an offensive stance. "He wanted a Sharingan, you see—one from the battlefield. I'll just give 'im yours. And if you live after I pluck 'em outta your lovely face, I'll sell you to the famous whore-house 'round for some more stones."

"Quit slobberin', ya big, loony faggit!" Suigetsu said and let out an amused chuckle. "Hand over the stones and we might let ya live. Let's not make it messy, eh?" He curled his fingers around the hilt of his small blade and broke the illusion that was placed upon it. It rippled and turned into the executioner's blade right before their eyes. He took it out of its sheath and poised to strike.

The man let out an enraged roar, his neck muscles swollen and bloated like ship ropes. "I'll get both of ya whores! I'll—" he stopped mid-sentence, and his voice vanished into the wind. His watery eyes went wide, and the axe slipped from his hands and thudded to the ground. Long red cuts appeared in his neck, torso, and arms. His face contorted in pain and big bubbles of blood popped out of each one as he gasped out his final breath.

His big, round, and shining head tipped to the left, tore itself off his neck, and fell into the mud. He went down like a big log, splashing mud everywhere, his head floating in the puddle beside him. Sasuke stood about twenty feet behind him. One by one, the heads of his boisterous companions fell down to their feet, their faces frozen in an expression of shock and disbelief.

"Get the stones," Sasuke said and shook his sword twice to rid it of their blood. The ground was slippery with mud, blood, and guts. He looked at the man's face once more with a flicker of disgust in his eyes and looked at Suigetsu who had taken the small pouch out of the man's pocket.

"Ya didn't have ta kill 'em like that, ya know. I was takin' mental notes as ta what he wanted ta do ta ya," he said and threw up the leather pouch into the air twice in delight.

"He was starting to irritate me. And didn't you hear? You can get hands-on experience from the male brothels in Konoha." He stashed his sword away and squinted his eyes against a sudden burst of cold wind that threw a spray of rain against his face.

"Don't be nasty with me. I wanted it fer the _Tumbles_ portion in that weekly entertainment scroll for women," he said and trailed behind Sasuke, walking against the wind by keeping his feet firm on the ground.

"Tumbles?" he asked and moved through the lines of sunlight and shadows between the trees.

"It's a woman's club in Mist. They like this frooity shit—the ones who love that Cherry-Blossom-Hime are especially nasty lil' bitches. They send in hate mails 'bout me murderin' meself and raping me mum and whatnot. Fuckin' loose cunts! I'm gonna kill the whore in the most violent way imaginable and that'll teach 'em a lesson." He rubbed his hands together and created a happy grin on his face.

"Good for you—let's go," he said and pulled the mask hanging from the jacket's side-strap by a hook.

"Right behind ya, lovely!" he teased with a smile and put the mask back on, hiding his face and the form of his sword. They ran away from the bloody scene of carnage and left the outpost behind them.

Their rendezvous point was not far away from Konoha. They ran through the open gates and witnessed scenes of chaos: a small army of bandits had attacked Konoha, as well. Few people lay injured by the gates and were being healed by the Medics. Puffs of smoke rose from the weapons' depot behind the houses, but several Suiton users were already putting the fire out.

The bandits had probably fanned out and were wreaking havoc. He firmed his hold on the hilt and looked ahead. Time was running out. These masks would be rendered useless in about an hour.

He breathed in a hissing breath and spoke: "we have to find him. We're running out of time."

"I've already sent 'im the scroll. He'll be waitin' fer us by the stream outside the barrier. Don't ya worry," he assured and ran behind him.

The buildings whooshed past them like colourful paintings. They killed several bandits along the way. The greasy bastards were pillaging homes and raping women. He had really underestimated Meru's propensity for violence. His men were such pigs. They did not care as children watched whilst they forced the women down beneath them, pulled up their colourful kimonos, and fucked them raw and senseless upon the rough roads. It was really a banquet for these hungry brutes: free women and loot.

The bastard had not kept his word. Whomever he was working for had asked for a Sharingan. But why? He really did not know and really did not have the time to care. Konoha's army was right at his heels. If he did not elude Kai here, everything would be lost.

The lusty bandits scattered at the roaring sounds of flames launched into the sky: Uchiha men were amongst the frontline Shinobis. He and Suigetsu took a detour and ran between the cramped houses, finding a foothold upon the walls and making their way up to the roofs. It suddenly started pouring down heavy and hard, and screeches of men rose up into the air as Konoha's Shinobis pushed them back. It would be over soon. He had to find Torune and Sakura . . . and fast!

Sasuke skidded to a halt when he found Suigetsu's clone standing by the infirmary. He looked to Suigetsu and spoke in a rough voice: "why's he just standing there? Tell him to find her. We don't have time!"

"Calm yorself, Sasuke," he spoke, his voice hissing. All that running had drained him good. "She must be in the infirmary. She's a Medic, ya know." He ran his hand absentmindedly across his mask as if he was wiping his forehead clean.

"You better be sure. I can't risk using my Sharingan again—it'll damage the mask," he grated roughly and ran his eyes over the building as though he could see through the façade.

"I'll find her," he assured and moved his mask a little to the side to take a sip of cold water. It was infused with a chakra-rejuvenation powder. "Here, ya might need it." He held out the bottle, but Sasuke shook his head.

"I took one along the way," he said and cast a glance to the side where Suigetsu's clone was still standing and then met Suigetsu's eyes. "Lead the way and bring her to the same spot. The barrier and the chaos will prevent Root from detecting any breach into her mind."

Suigetsu nodded and made a long leap, clearing the sixty feet tall wall. Sasuke followed him, and they landed on the back of the weapons' depot. A clear stream ran behind it. It came from a shrine deep in the forest. They ran upstream, leaving behind the din of battle and slaughter in their wake.

The clone waited outside the infirmary, he stumbled forward when he caught sight of Suigetsu—but stopped when he saw Sasuke and him leap to the other side of the wall and muttered, "original bastard. Thinks he's all that. I'll just murder 'im and take his place!"

At that moment, Kai came running to him with an injured man behind him, who was supported by two other men. A sword had sliced deep into his left side, and he was bleeding badly. As soon as his eyes focused on him, he pulled in a deep breath and spoke, "where's Sakura? This man needs help."

"Suigetsu left me here ta keep watch. I haven't seen her, and the man there wouldn't let me in. Says the place is packed," he spoke in a jovial manner, pointing his thumb at the big and heavy guard standing at the door.

Kai tilted his head to one side and looked at the man. "Let this man through—he's injured," he spoke loudly, and the burly man took two steps to climb down the stairs. His face was red and mean and he exhibited a rather angry scowl.

"Who goes there? Lady Tsunade's left me in charge of this place. It's crawling with Katsuya clones, and they're delicate little creatures. She's out on the frontlines. I can't let anyone through without chakra identification!" he said and locked his teeth as though he was about to prevent himself from letting out a long whining sound.

"I'm Kai, commander of the Twelfth Squad of The Anbu division," he said and made a few hand-seals to make his chakra known to him. The man before him sensed his chakra and bowed.

"Kai-San, forgive me, but it's standard protocol," he said and raised his shoulders on a loud sigh.

"I understand. I can see his chakra through my Sharingan—he's Suigetsu's clone. He's a man from Sasuke's squad," he said and gestured Suigetsu to come forward. "Take him in. I left my clone at the outpost. I need to go back. Send me a hawk if anything happens here."

The man nodded and allowed Suigetsu to carry the man into the infirmary with the masked Anbu. He climbed two stairs when Kai spoke again, "tell her to come meet me by the gates as soon as she's done here. It's imperative that she does—Sasuke's orders."

He narrowed his red eyes on Suigetsu and spun away. Suigetsu watched him flash away through the smoke floating towards them from the buildings. He looked ahead and carried the grunting man to the second floor, thinking: why would Sasuke demand her presence at the gates? It made no sense, but he shrugged off the thought. It was better to listen to Kai . . . Itachi . . .

The smell of medicine was thick in the air. It was like a load carried by an old, old man who could barely carry it anymore. He saw Sakura packing a few things into a small bag at the end of the large hall. A timid looking medic came running forward, along with her two assistants, and took the man from his hands. They laid him down on the bed to his right and moved the curtain around him.

Moans and grunts rose from behind the curtains and assistant medics carried bloody swathes of bandages in trays all around him. Suigetsu looked curiously at Sakura; she did not seem all that perturbed by everything happening around her. A medic went to her, and she told her something with a fake smile on her lips. Her green eyes wandered in his direction and the smile faded immediately.

He bit his lower lip and stalked towards her, and suddenly, her expression looked as though a rabbit had been caught in a trap and was about to be slaughtered upon the edge of a sword. "Suigetsu—what're you doing here?" she asked and strapped the small fanny-bag around her waist. She was a little nervous. There was a curl of anxiety in her smile, and he realised that she was up to no good.

"Kai came by," he said in a chirpy voice, boring his eyes into hers, "yor needed at the gates. Sasuke's orders."

"Sasuke's?" she asked, and her face crumpled in a frown as a red-hot colour of anger rose wildly in her cheeks. "Yamato-San's called me to the forest. Tsunade-Sama needs me. I'll send in Shizune-San to assist him. I can't neglect Hokage-Sama's orders. I'm sure he'll understand." She clenched her teeth together as if she was on the verge of speech, but she did not say anything and rushed out of the infirmary.

He decided to follow her, but he did not make it far out of the gate when he lost the strength and turned into water.

The mist outside Konoha was cool and sweet; and the rain, soft. A lovely scent of lilies permeated the air, leading their way to the heart of the shrine. They ran some more and came across Torune who was waiting by a guardian deity statue for them.

His goggles were fogged by the cold, and he looked quite irritated and confused. He sneezed thrice, and his nose turned as red as a tomato. Mucus splattered out of his right nostril, and he wiped at it without any shame. Sasuke had never felt so disgusted in his entire life. The gravy he had had this morning was already beginning to churn in his stomach.

"Took your sweet time, Tabata," he spoke groggily and wiped a hand across his goggles.

"It wasn't easy to shake off Anbu. You know they're persistent," Sasuke spoke with a changed voice and started walking to the east. His walk progressed to a jog, and he disappeared behind the large stones jutting out of the ground. The shrine was not far.

"Of all the days—this was the day the Uchiha bastard picked up to meet someone? I'll fuck him up for this!" he groaned and chased after Sasuke with Suigetsu behind him.

The mist grew thick and the rain thinned. A soft sound rose from the heart of the shrine. It came up from an empty well the monks used in the past. This place had fallen to neglect. Moss grew on the spires and Buddha statues, and the deity statues lay broken under the constant lashes of rain.

Torune felt a tingling sensation run through his skin. He was sensing through his bugs, and he had just crossed Konoha's barrier. He was vulnerable. Where was the fool leading him? He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and rubbed his skin. He hated the cold weather. It made him sick, and his nose got runny like a sickly Genin kid no one liked to sit with. He hated it!

He followed Tabata's shadow as it twisted through the stray beams of light, with Kamiya trailing behind it. He breathed in the woody-scent and spoke in a rough voice: "have you set the traps for him? He won't go down easy. As soon as he succumbs to poison, we'll slit his throat and take his eyes. Danzō-Sama needs them. He'll pacify Itachi when he returns. We'll just say that the Bandits killed him." He coughed and stopped, trying to look ahead into the light as Tabata turned around. He could not see Tabata's face at all. He was just a dark silhouette in his gaze.

"Why did you—" And a shuddering breath closed the sentence. He saw the Sharingan burn through the film on the mask, and the little insects vibrated in his bones like hungry gnats at the smell of such a powerful chakra. He did not even see him move when a kick crashed into his ribs. His breath flew from his lungs, and he went flying back and skidded and rolled on the muddy ground like a toy.

Eventually, he rolled slowly and his body stopped moving. He tried to get up, but he felt that several of his ribs were broken. He balanced himself on his elbows, straightening his battered torso as his slim-muscled legs slowly tried to lift him off the ground. It was almost hopeless. He slowly craned his face streaked in mud to Sasuke as he landed on his feet before him.

"How are you doing, Torune?" he asked and created a soft smile on his young face. His mask was gone, and his white skin glowed in the light like that of a Noh-theatre-child's mask. "Danzō's not paying you enough for your troubles? That nasty dog!"

Suigetsu cackled behind him as he took his mask off to drag in a deep breath that swelled his breast. "The air here's good," he said and spread his arms out wide and spun around like a little child. "Other than ya stinkin' up the place, ya Root bitch!"

Torune bowed his head and then looked back up again. "What do you want?" he asked and watched a sinister colour of anger glow in his eyes—a new pattern; and he saw those uncaring eyes change into their eternal, petal-like forms. Then the pattern disappeared and devolved back into commas; Sasuke was playing with him and he resented it, but he did not have the strength and the power in him to take Sasuke on.

"What's this about the eyes? Tell me—I like stories," he said and stood over Torune, looking down at him with an expression as if he was a street mendicant.

Torune laughed and created a defiant smirk on his bloodied lips. "You think it's _that_ easy? You fool! You dragged me out of the barrier to read my mind, didn't you? It won't work. We have seals on our tongues and bodies. I can't speak anything and you can't breach my mind without giving yourself away." And he burst out laughing again, seeing no change in Sasuke's smile.

"And they say you're a prodigy," he rasped as he tried to get up again. "No, you're just a foolish boy with a good toy in his hands. You didn't think this through, did you? Now, I'll just walk out of here and you _will_ be arrested for treason against Root. I would love to see your crazy brother pull you out of this one."

The smile vanished from Sasuke's face, and he coiled his leg back and hit Torune's forehead. His head snapped back, and he rolled clumsily across the ground and crashed into a tree. Blood poured out of his head and fell down upon his hands.

"Don't talk about Nii-Sama like that," he warned and made to move when Suigetsu grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Calm down. You got 'im good. The bastard is already bleedin'. Let's just do what we came ta do and be on our way. We don't have the time, Sasuke," he reasoned and watched the anger slowly fade away from his face and eyes.

Torune clutched feebly at his head. He could barely see anything. He felt one of them slap the palm of his hand against his forehead—a strange feeling tore through him, and he was lifted off the ground high up into the air, and then the world was awash in a red colour, filtered into such hot tones that he desired to spill all of his secrets before him.

Sharingan Genjutsu! But how? He tried to fight it, but it was too late. He was already floating, and his lips were moving before he could stop them; so he spoke, words tumbling from his mouth: "Danzō gave a rare Sharingan to Yagura for something important. The—the host died mysteriously. He killed several people. Danzō . . . he . . . he . . . "

"Speak," Sasuke said in a grave voice and intensified the Genjutsu.

Torune looked up into the light pouring down from the sky. It was red. He did not understand what was going on, but he spoke again, without any shame and honour, "he wanted control of the host. Minato denied him. For—for the village. Yagura threw him out of the Tulip Squad. Namikaze fool!" Then his words vanished into silence. He wheezed, unable to speak anymore.

Sasuke unsheathed his sword and walked to him: he swished it through the air, slicing a deep cut in Torune's throat. An arc of blood flew out of his neck, and his body trembled and convulsed grotesquely before it went completely still. Sasuke sat down and placed a seal upon his forehead when it started raining.

He turned around after giving one last look to Torune's broken goggles stained with his own blood. "Where's your clone? Why's he not here with Sakura?" he asked and looked about and saw no one for several hundred feet.

Suigetsu gulped and stared fearfully into his eyes. "Me clone—it vanished!" he said and Sasuke's expression changed from shock to anger.

"What? I thought I—" Sasuke stopped and frantically looked around. "Merge with water. Hurry, find her! If she's here, she couldn't be far." He frantically looked about, but it was hopeless. The seals were created to fool Dōjutsu users. The bloody shrine could be anywhere!

Suigetsu knelt down and merged a part of his watery form with the water. He could feel everything on the ground: the soft petals of the lilies, the slick plumes of the birds in the trees, the textures of the rough bark . . . and the small pores in a woman's skin.

"There!" he shouted and Sasuke flashed fast to the rocks on the right. There it was, the small shrine hidden beneath the rocks. He shot his hand forward, and it turned into a Raiton-Spear that went clean through the stones as if they were not even there.

He heard movement from inside, and he frantically moved the tip of the Raiton sword forward, pulled it back, and then stabbed it into the ground repeatedly till he heard a suppressed whimper from the other side. The roof of the little tunnel was caving in, and the rat was trying hard to squeeze its way through with its head intact . . . then the sound vanished. He could hear nothing.

"Find her. Search this whole area. Now!" Sasuke commanded roughly and flashed away. He went from one corner to the other, but found nothing. Finally, when he realised that it was all for nought, he compressed his lips and signalled to Kirin to call his clone away from Kai.

Suigetsu came running from behind the rocks. He was out of breath. "I can't find her. She's not here. It's like she vanished—Reverse-Summoning!" he informed and put his hand to his breast to get his wind.

"I'm going back to the village to cancel my clone. Follow me when you catch your breath," he said and flashed away.

Sun was low in the sky, and the smoke was hanging in the air, like something dreadful, when he leapt over the wall behind the depot to land into the village. He saw his clone running towards the infirmary, and he cancelled it. It disappeared in a cloud of smoke right before his eyes. He put his hand upon the façade and looked down, gritting his teeth. He had messed up! Everything was ruined! She had gotten away, somehow. He had to find her and kill her—it was the only way.

"There you are!" a voice spoke, and he looked up to see Kai walking towards him. His jacket was frayed, and he looked quite tired. "You just ran off all of a sudden. You all right?"

Sasuke straightened his back and looked at the small cut on Kai's forehead. "Where's Sakura? I need to speak to her," he said, and immediately, Kai's expression turned wary.

"I don't know. Suigetsu told me that she'd gone off to see Yamato. He called her somewhere outside the village—Hokage business," he said and surveyed Sasuke's calm face. He looked more composed than usual, and _this_ demeanour was bothering him.

"What's on your—"

"I have to get to the infirmary," Sasuke cut him off and flashed away so fast that he could not even see in which direction. Kai called out from behind him, but he did not see him stop. He was in trouble!

The shadows mounted the walls when Sakura climbed up the stairs of her apartment. It would be night soon. She could barely pull the cool air into her lungs. She was tired and . . . sad. Slowly, she opened her door and stepped inside her apartment. A familiar scent of something crashed against her senses like a cart.

Her heart thundered in her breast, and she breathed in and out deeply as though she was being fucked hard, but it was only fear and a feeling of something a little more delicious. She spun around and found Sasuke sitting on her sofa. His Sharingan turned on, and she felt naked before his eyes.

"W-What are you doing here?" Sakura asked, fumbling with words. Her cheeks were red, and she felt sweat pouring down her back.

"Come here, Sakura," he rasped, watching her, "put your foot on my thigh."

"What?" she asked in confusion, her heart beating in her throat. Light flashed into the room and missed his face. It was still cast in shadows; she could not see it at all.

"Put your foot on my thigh. Now," he repeated again, a bit more roughly this time, and her heart skipped beats, clasped by the hard hand of fear.

"Sasuke, I-I don't—"

"I won't repeat myself again," he cut her off and his eyes shone wildly in the darkness.

Sakura gulped down the thorny lump stuck in her throat and approached him with wobbly steps. It was as if he sat so far away, and the distance was immeasurable for her feet that felt so frail and weak to carry her beaten body. The new shadows made the bridge between them seem longer, harder to traverse.

She found a bit of courage in her and stopped in front of him. Her eyes tried to see the fine lines of his face, but she could not. She reached down and pulled down the strap of her sandal. Then, carefully, she raised her foot and placed it on his left thigh.

Sasuke's Sharingan dug into her skin, and when his fingers touched her thigh, her hairs stood on ends, and she hissed despite herself. Gooseflesh rose on her thighs, and she trembled under his touch. He seemed unmoved.

He moved his hand up and slowly unwound the cloth wrapped around her upper thigh. When he removed it, he looked at the deep cut and the blue skin around it. He touched it with his fingertip and pushed the bruised flesh in, and she winced in pain.

"Sasuke, that hurts!" Sakura protested and pulled her foot down with a sudden jerky movement. She stumbled back but quickly regained her balance.

"Where did you get that wound from?" Sasuke asked, and she felt electrifying fear make the tiny hairs on her skin tingle. Her legs trembled, and as he stood up to his full height, she saw his dark, shapely shadow stand taller behind him.

"On the field—what kind of question is that?" she said, and she knew she sounded timid and afraid. He made her afraid and that had never happened before. How long had she desired for him to come to her, touch her, make love to her? But this was something else. There was fury in his red eyes, and she wanted to turn away and run.

" _Really_? I thought you were a medic?" he asked in a mocking voice, drawing closer, and she felt that she could not even move as the fear settled deep into her limbs, hindering her movement—all she could do was stand there and tremble.

"S-Sasuke?" she spoke in a trembling voice, fear choking her throat.

"Unless, your thigh was struck by Raiton. It paralyses skin, muscle, and tissue, burns through it, and it doesn't heal for a while. Am I not right, Sakura?" he asked in a hissing voice, his hand slowly going to his back as though he wanted her to see it move.

She caught sight of the moonlight shining on the kunai's tip in his hand, and she felt completely helpless. A layer of tears rose up into her eyes, and she staggered back, trying to spin away, to run away from him, but all the life had been ripped away from her body. It had gone numb.

Sasuke took one step towards her when the front door swung open to reveal Kai. He was breathing heavily. He looked from Sasuke to the quick movement of his hand. His Sharingan could only catch a bit of his hand's swift movement: he had stashed away something, probably a weapon. He breathed in deeply to calm his heartbeats and spoke: "come with me, Sasuke. You're required at the meeting."

Sasuke cast Sakura one last appraising look; then his eyes filled with a deep kind of malice, and he left the apartment silently with Kai, without an argument. Sakura heard the sound of the door closing behind her back, and she slumped down to the cold floor, tears finally breaking through. She cried, hacking, her body trembling, her eyes looking to the empty spot where he had sat moments ago. He meant to kill her; he had really meant to kill her!

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	57. Double the Trouble

**Chapter Fifty-Seven** : Double the Trouble

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Bodies, so many bodies, a swarm of flies bearing down on dead men, but dead men told no tales. In silence they slept and in silence they bore their torments for another eternity of song-less woes. Their requiems never had the audience of smiling faces.

Dead, so many dead, rank smells of rotting flesh accompanying the discordant tunes of heavy rain. It had come down early like an eager scavenger to dig deep into their skins and make them tender and soft for the beaks in the morning. The odour was tar for his lungs, but he had learnt to bear these trivial things: they did not cause him distress.

Who would speak of their endless tales of war and murder? He penned them, forged the final bits of their destinies in the manner of folktales, which the swords would speak of if granted spirits and tongues. The last they saw were the strikes from his blade. That was the only sensation they would carry to their graves—if someone awarded them such a courtesy; otherwise, they would become a delicacy for the crows and vultures, and he knew that they would sing so happily with bellies full and pick them to the bones out of love. Nature was a letter of love for the dead; it never had any tongue-less songs for the living.

"Itachi-Sama, I believe I found what you were looking for," the unsure voice of his subordinate spoke from behind him. It carried over the noise of the rain. Nature was impatient today.

Serizawa held a wooden box in his trembling hands. His fingers were as white as a wet scroll's paper; cold was never kind to him. It only took a fleeting glance of the sturdy black box to recognize it from the vast threads of his memories. A smile dangerously threatened to invade his cold face, but he did not allow it to tread so far.

Itachi made the hand-seals he had learnt by heart and memory and watched as the chakra set the wolf marking alight like a children's magic show. The seal was broken. How easy it was to get what he wanted? It almost amused him. He turned on his Sharingan and looked through the barrier of wood that was not enough to hide anything from his eyes. There it was . . . that prize he had been playing for.

Two days. Two whole days had gone by in these games. The letters had stopped coming. He put his hand on the cold wood and his white fingers clenched in anxiety. His crows were gone. It was no use. He could make more and send one to Konoha, but a storm was pushing in from that direction. His crow did not have the strength in its wings to power through. He admitted that he had lost in one of these games. Was it Kikyo? He would not put it past her. Was it Sasuke? The child had always been precocious and stubborn.

The time to lay the blame on either one of them was gone. He just had to act and he had to act fast. His heart was filled with an ugly and soul-chilling paranoia. He raised his eyes, his Sharingan going to sleep, and he looked at the red in Serizawa's eyes—a softer hue that made him look compassionate and kind. He had joined the forces to avenge the untimely death of his younger brother in the past. He could not avenge him; so now, he spent his days in the military to keep his mind off the tragedy: one game to forget another game. Convenient . . .

Itachi dragged in the cool air and raised his eyes. The rain was less ferocious now and a red light was spreading along the arc of the horizon. It would be evening soon. He had to go back—end this foolish game. It was the only way. He slipped a hand into the pocket of his pants and took out a small scroll.

"Take this to the Shitchi leader in the mountains," he spoke and watched Serizawa tuck the box clumsily under his arm. He was a rather peculiar fellow.

Serizawa pulled in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. "What about the scroll?" he asked and took the scroll from his hand. A nauseous expression suddenly came to his face. The rain had left the rotting bodies soggy and wet. All that damp and rot had made the air almost un-breathable. Even the wind was too weak now to push it away.

"Karin," Itachi spoke, and she came running from the edge of the forest, her long red hair swaying back and forth across her buttocks. "Take out the scroll we need and seal the rest." She nodded and took the box from Serizawa's hand.

Serizawa looked confused. He scrunched his eyebrows together and tapped his finger to his forehead as though he was in deep thought. "You said that we would leave in the morning, Itachi-Sama. I don't—" he stopped, still appearing as lost as ever. It was a trait he had never grown out of ever since he stepped foot into the Genin academy. It gave him an air of innocence and charms that earned him a doting wife a couple of years back. Itachi never could understand his mannerisms.

"You ask so many questions, Serizawa," he spoke, and ran his eyes over Serizawa's reddening cheeks. The man was so easily embarrassed. "Karin will be right at your heels in a few hours. It is a two-day journey. Make haste." And with that, he left them alone amongst the silent woes of the dead.

The night was a harlot that sang new songs: she was sweet and cunning, a vicious mistress of flesh. Everyone hid and played in their chambers, made a mess from the spills of their conjoinings. His eyes watched the ceilings, watery and hazy behind the veil of incense. He let it sleep this time; it was not needed, the companion of his horrors.

He felt her plump lips and the bite from her teeth upon his throat, and the air throbbed about him like the throbbing slit between her thighs. Her smell went up his nostrils, and he knew that she was damp and eager to be filled for another union; and then she slid down to play with his genitals to cast away the skin of a deadly shroud upon her flesh and strike him when he would not suspect—so silly.

Itachi grabbed her smooth black hair, wound them around his hand with a quick spinning movement, and pulled her back. Kikyo let out a little yelp of surprise but quickly hid her anger with a bold expression on her face. She bent her head down, her lips hovering over his—she so desired to plant a kiss there.

"You don't like to be kissed, Itachi-Sama?" she asked, and her warm breath fell upon his lips like rancid vapours of poison. The light from the lantern to the right cast her left side in evil shadows. The shade of berries was still there, red on her pretty lips, a colour she would remember till her final breaths.

The tea she had given him made him a little dizzy. She was still up to no good. He wanted to curl to his left side, ride it out. His body, now, was a temple of pain: all sick, shivering, and sweat-ridden. Silence was the ghost of his past and the spectre of his future. It hovered by his side, always, and he had taken it into himself feverishly the way a woman in heat does a man. It was a pleasure of another kind.

And her childish tricks were apparent on her face now, the treachery of murder in her eyes and the betrayal of blood upon her lips. Her whole body was a grave of primal sins. All Men paid the price. She would pay it sooner than most. He could not say the thought made him pity her. No, she just bored him to no end now.

"You still refuse me?" she asked, whispering close to his ear and rubbing her fingers harshly against his throat as though she wanted to choke him.

Itachi did not speak, relishing the coming moments, his head spinning and shuddering in anticipation of the thrill of the act. Games were so sweet. No man ever grew weary of them. An innocently arranged pile of tricks was the soul, and the art lay in transferring the blame elsewhere. He, too, was an unrepentant sinner—a betrayer of blood. Red was upon his spirit, and it vibrated in fear at the assumptions of truth and secrecy.

Fear often read into his actions, but it was a matter of another time, another place. A bird's song rose, and her lips moved closer to his throat to kiss and sigh. "Why, Itachi-Sama?" she asked again and pressed her bosom against his. "I shall give you more wealth and an incomparable pleasure you can only dream of. Why do you deny me? I'll become your strength, another sword in your hand—if you just gave me a chance. Don't leave. I don't desire to part from you so soon."

Kikyo's soft words died against the song of the blackbird. Its tongue was pure, powerful, and honest. He gazed at the ceiling, sensing his blood fight off the poison in his system. His limbs felt the weight of the foreign substance that mirrored itself in the form of a thin film of sweat upon his brow. The shadows on the ceiling were playing—little children turning in a new motion to conquer another one. Little ruffians! _Slit that throat. Make it bleed. Watch the little harlot weep!_ A sound of children's laughter rose from within that song, shuddering like his skin and bones. Oh, so pretty a little murder of innocence was!

He knew what was coming: a shining tip of the dagger arched towards his throat, and he clasped hold of her trembling hands. She curled her fingers around the hand that held the dagger firmly and pushed it down. Chakra was in her hands, and his weakness was preventing him from throwing her off him. She was strong, too strong.

Her hands began to shake, and her face warped in such ugliness that he was not an easy prey for her to eat; then the dagger pushed down more and more, and he managed to change the angle of the strike. Now, it was aimed at his right eye. The whole room had disappeared behind the silver of the dagger, and the redness of her face and lips. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, and she grunted, pushing more chakra into her arms that the tip came down to brush against the fringe of his lashes. They did not flutter.

Itachi's Sharingan was still asleep—a silent watcher of her life's fleeting moments. It would wear red upon itself just to mock her. His expression was still the same, cold and uncaring. It did not seem as though the situation perturbed him in any manner. There was no hint of nervousness in the black depths of his sinister eyes, and it made her afraid, so very afraid. Kikyo clenched her teeth and applied all the force she could muster into her hands, but to her surprise, her hands were being pushed up.

Sweat was pouring down from the tip of her nose to fall upon his lips, and disappear into his pores, and as if his lips were a dry branch that had quenched its own thirst, she saw them tremble to mock her with a ghostly smile she so loathed. She did not get a chance to make another strike as his hand shot forward and grabbed her by the throat. It was a death grip, and her flailing hands dropped the dagger to go for his hand. It was choking the life out of her.

Kikyo clawed at his fingers, her eyes bulging out, her face going as white as the powder she so loved to decorate her face with. He did not relent, and his hand did not falter as he threw her back, and she went flying across the room, her head hitting the beam on the ceiling in the process. She crashed down and coughed violently to catch her breath, her hands kneading the throat that burnt: it needed a few sips of water to cool the sensation.

She watched in horror as the lantern by his side dimmed; it felt the aura of wickedness emanating from his perfect body, and then, as if a puppeteer pulled at the strings of a puppet lying flat upon the floor, his limbs vibrated so subtly. Each invisible string pulled at his joints to lift him up, starting from his feet and going all the way up to his head, and he stood up in one swift motion without touching the bed beneath him. It was like a flexible bough that had been bent to its limit was released abruptly to stand up again in the same stance.

His head fell forward, and he just stood there, mechanically, like a toy, for a moment that was no more than a single draw of breath. Her eyes widened, and she slithered back like a scared animal pressed to the ground, breathing hard as her eyes fell on the red awakening in his eyes, and she knew she had to run. Her clammy feet barely moved, but she gave them the strength she needed to run away.

Kikyo spun away and ran to the door, the moonlight blinding her for the moment as she pushed forward to open it, and crashed to the cold floor through the gap. Her legs hurt, but she ran away to the hall when she heard his feet pursue her. This was not how she had imagined it. It was not right. And she ran and ran, cold blood pounding in her veins with a mortal fear she had never known before—her black-as-night hair, indistinguishable from the shroud of night. They clung to her sweaty skin in curls, decorating the blush that invaded her cheeks from exertion.

The shadows danced by her sides, and the sounds of his sandals behind her back were the most cruel ones she had ever heard. Where were her accursed men? She had sent them out to fetch Meru to hide the scroll. How foolish she had been. He had played her and now he was going to take her life.

Her feet felt too small to carry her enormous weight. The fear of death weighed heavily upon her soul. It was as though it knew it had to be liberated in the coming moments. The accursed bitch! She would not let it! So she heaved in another loud breath and ran into the large temple hall: it would prove itself to be her final sanctuary or a final slab in her premature grave. She hid behind the rain-washed pillar, the light lifting itself off her face.

She heard nothing but the watery sounds of the stream outside. His steps had gone silent. Had he really left her alone? No, it could not have been that easy. The pillars around her were tall and thick, carrying their own shadows behind themselves. It was suddenly so quiet, and her breaths rattled through the sickly quietness like the whole place was a deathly trap to kill her here. She would wash him off her skin, if that was the last thing she would ever do.

Kikyo knew a little _Sensing_ , and when she put it to good use, she felt a cold, powerful chakra gather as a bubbling, congealing blood rising up from an old wound. Black veins travelled through the ceiling's stones and cement to the pillar by the door, throbbing grotesquely as though she was in the belly of the beast, staring at its pulsating innards.

They joined in the middle, and a wound appeared in the ceiling, oozing blood like the delicate layer of skin had been ripped through with a cruel motion of a cock. It bubbled, a black goo, and dripped down. Something appeared in between the black mass: a beautiful white face whose body was being created from the hellish mass of void that sat atop the unformed world cradled in its still-forming black wings. White . . . and red eyes and that long white throat.

All of it melted and trickled down to the floor, and she watched in utmost horror as tiny crows formed out of the misshapen lumps that clung to the slippery side of the floor like the black semen of a beast; it had erupted there after rutting, pleasured itself to contentment, and now it came for her throat.

The little crows rose, their hungry caws vibrated through the halls, striking the pretty red pillars with such a force that she felt like retching. The sound . . . it was stirring her insides in ways he had stirred hers with his cock, but it was fear that had gushed forth from the crown to cleave to the walls of her womb, and she knew she was about to birth the final remnants of her lust upon the floor there. How disgusting.

And it blent, the unholy mixture of crows, bones, and black sludge; and he rose out of it all, beautiful and divine as though he had never been touched by the vulgar and ugly side of evil. Colour of life spread under his skin, and he looked just like a vile man with a skin of beauty. He turned his head and looked around, amused by the chakra vapours dispersed in the air.

"You have spread chakra here? It would do you no good. I do not need the Sharingan to see you, Kikyo," Itachi spoke, his face coming into the thick shaft of moonlight spilling in through the large door.

Kikyo's heart trembled as his voice slid itself across her skin, hurting her spirit into a deadly submission. A shadow peered at him from behind the pillar, and he looked at it with a smile on his face. "A child's trick," he said, and she fired off two poison arrows from the crossbow. He threw two kunais with a lazy flick of his wrist, and the shadow disappeared.

His hand shot out and grabbed both of them with ease. There were strings attached to the arrows to deliver a Raiton charge to paralyze the enemy. She only got off a bit of her chakra when he yanked at the strings and she flew to him, her belly colliding with his fist. The crossbow fell from her shaking hands and clattered to the floor.

Her last breath got knocked out of her, and she saw her own reflection looking up at her from the floor as it got obscured by the spit and water she deposited helplessly upon it. He pulled his hand back and Kikyo lost her footing. She slipped and fell back to the floor, her eyes staring up to see him snap the arrows in two.

Itachi's shadow stood tall upon her, her body weighed down by its mere presence. The moon shone brightly behind his back—an escape that was so far away for her to reach. "Passion leads to such ugly things," he suddenly spoke, and his voice sounded so loud and fierce in the empty temple's hall.

The Buddha statues that stood mighty and big in the shadows stared at her—silent and still. They were just watchers, spectators of her doom. She would be judged here ruthlessly before her trip to Yomi. How cruel this fate felt for someone so young, and she felt her eyes sting, shameless tears pouring down her cheeks. He was not moved. There was no change in his demeanour. He was just watching her with an air of authority and a cold detachment . . . it was just a game, and he had won.

"Why do you weep, Kikyo?" he asked, almost sweetly, and his voice broke the stillness in the hall and she grimaced in anger.

She craned her face up to him, blood smearing her lips. Raising her trembling fingers, she touched the foreign, hot wetness there, pulling a thick string of spit and blood away from her lips. Vomit came up to her throat, and she coughed out more red upon the floor, her eyes staring horrified as blood spilt from her lips and fell down by her trembling hands.

Kikyo panicked, her breaths turned ragged, and she clawed helplessly at her bosom as if she was dying. A pain exploded in her head and blood came out of her eyes and nostrils in a string of droplets. She covered her face with her hands and looked at the red as they came away. She slapped them back against her cheeks twice and let out a loud, blood-curdling scream that pierced through the hall to shatter the silence. The Buddha behind her back was still quiet . . .

And she screamed and screamed, crying hoarsely as she felt something grab hold of her soul and rip bits of it out of her pretty little body. The hungry crow had pecked her good. Her feet slipped on the blood and spit she had vomited upon the floor, and she pressed her back firmly against the legs of the statue, hoping for it to swallow her whole. She could see the red in his eyes from between her trembling fingers, but she had no air left in her bosom to scream anymore.

"W-What have you—d-done—?" she spoke between hiccups as blood and mascara went from her eyes in a thick and sluggish mixture.

Itachi considered her for a moment, red stabbing at the fabric of her spirit, tearing it apart the way he had done with the delicate film between her legs. "It is not poison," he said, and she took in a little breath of relief, "but you are a foolish child. Did you _really_ think this would work? Your uncle's men have been warned of the coming raid. They will not come to ambush Cloud's men to destroy this treaty."

She gritted her teeth, her breath hissing through her clenched jaws. "You bastard! You—b-bastard! You won't get your hands on the scroll. Meru will kill you and your brother if s-something happens to me. You'll get nothing!" she shouted and clenched her bloody trembling fingers into fists.

"Meru is dead. I killed him myself a day ago," he said and the loud, whistling sounds of her breaths vanished under the crushing descent of silence. "The missives you got were from me. You always said how you loved them."

Then a faceless form drifted like dust towards her and shook her mortal cage. Her face shuddered and more tears wiped away the blood from her cheeks. "What do you w-want? Leave me be, you wicked man! L-Leave me be!" she spoke in a rough voice, trying her hardest to hide the fear.

Itachi took out the scroll from his pocket and showed it to her, and a careless cry tore from her throat. "Such a dangerous game you were playing," he said and pushed the scroll back into his pocket. "I would have left you alone had you not gone after the treaty, you foolish child."

And that heart throbbed in her bosom as she moved her feet again to move away from him as he walked to her. She locked her jaws to prevent a scream: he had reduced her to a snivelling _little_ girl.

He sat down on one knee and brushed a thumb across her shaking lips. "Sometimes, it is wise to let things go. Why did you not let things go, Kikyo? Look how you have ruined the shade of berries upon your lips," he whispered and wiped his thumb against the white fabric of her kimono, leaving a red smear there as a last reminder for her eyes. "Your death is inevitable. You will die in two days' time, bleeding from your mouth, eyes, and nose."

"No—no! Don't do this. Please, I b-beg of you!" she pleaded shakily, moving her head from side to side, crying fresh tears of great fear and sorrow. It was not true. It was just not true. It could not be true. Ice-cold sweat poured out of her skin, and her heart forgot to beat at that revelation. She was really going to die! And then her heart beat so loudly in protest that she could hear nothing but its resounding beats inside the frail chamber of her spirit.

"I cannot do anything now," he spoke, his voice still so soft as he looked at her the way he always did, with a touch of mischievousness in his red eyes that mocked her in such a cruel manner now. "You should have stayed put when I warned you, but you are such a foolish child. You did not heed my warnings. You just wanted to play. There is nothing more to be done. I could only delay its assault upon your senses one last time. That is the only reason I even stayed." He smiled and removed the pin from her hair and they tumbled down to her shoulder.

Itachi looked at the pin, as if it amused him, and pushed it into the fabric of her kimono's collar. Her mind was spinning wildly. Thoughts were going away, and she was trying to piece everything together to save her sanity, but everything flew away like dust. He stood up and started walking away from her, and she, in sheer desperation, cast aside a mortal's pride, moved, and fell forwards, her hands scrambling on the floor to hold on to something.

He stopped suddenly and turned a little to look at her face pressed against the crude layer of blood and spit on the floor. "I must confess the heave of your beaded bosom and the sounds of your soft pants were . . . delightful," he spoke in the softest voice she had ever heard from his lips, and then he smiled and walked out of the there in silence, leaving her screams and fractured memories behind the wall of distance. She forgot it all too soon again—everything got constructed into the lies he fed her.

He made it to the edge of the forest, a night's journey. Serizawa was waiting for him there with Karin. Three days were wasted in such games. The rains were heavy and the passages deluged with water. They decided to take a long way around. His crow flew down to him on the fifth day with a missive: Kyo had killed her with the night-flower poison from the whores. The poor thing had bled to death at the foot of the temple stairs. (A crime of passion.) They put him to death there and then. Her brother was so aggrieved, though the matter was not any of his concern.

The Uchiha village was silent at this hour. Lanterns hung bright outside the doors, and trees whispered in strange tongues into his ears. It was a new song of a coming season. He retraced his steps back to his home. It was silent. He did not need Sharingan to look inside his own house. He stepped into the manor. Tanaka had left the door open. He had sent a letter to Kai from the last outpost that he was coming. It was late and he was tired.

Itachi had just removed the sword from his back when the front-door opened: it was Kai and he was breathing heavily. He looked at Itachi in anxiousness—he wanted to speak—but Itachi forestalled him in a cold, grave voice: "you think you can just come barging into someone's house whenever it pleases you? Have you no shame?"

Kai went down on one knee and bowed low. "Itachi-Sama, please, forgive me. I—" he stopped and breathed in a few times as he tried to calm his breathing, "—I tried to stop them—I truly did, but they didn't listen to me. I—"

Colour flew from Itachi's lips and cheeks and worry crowded his face. His Sharingan shuddered, a red-dyed cloth of a maiden, in his eyes to see and to look. There was nothing in the house. It was empty. His lips trembled for a moment, and he gathered his stray wits to speak in such a low voice: "where is Sasuke?"

Kai breathed deeply once and got to his feet. He looked defeated, sorrowful, remorseful. "Root Shinobis came and arrested him," he spoke and watched Itachi turn his face away into the shadows. "I tried to stop them, but they had warrants for his arrest. I couldn't do anything."

"When did this happen?" he asked again in the same low voice, and the black lips of his shadow moved behind his back as it plastered itself, like a parasite, to the wall.

"Five days ago," he whispered, and Itachi turned his angry face to him. He was livid.

He stepped towards him, his face dark as though he was bearing the heavy weight of all the shadows around him. "I asked you to watch him, a mere _boy_ , but you could not even manage that," he hissed and Kai flinched in fear. "They must have dismantled his mind by now to amuse themselves. Why did you not tell me? You could have sent one accursed missive to warn me. Why did you not do this?"

Kai lowered his head, staring at his sandals, his weak heartbeats picking up the pace. "Tsunade-Sama told me not to. My hands were tied," he said, sounding fearful, his Sharingan refusing to rise up to bear the brunt of Itachi's wrath.

"She speaks a lot of things," Itachi said, and Kai felt him draw closer, though he had no strength in his legs to move away from his towering shadow, "and yet, you had done just that despite her protests. Did you do this on purpose?"

Kai jerked his head up, his eyes widening to meet Itachi's. The red there was steeped in such a vile kind of anger. "N-No, Itachi-Sama. I would _never_ do such a thing. She warned me that Root might interfere with your mission. She said that she had it all under control. I thought it was for the best—"

"—for the best that you left him to rot in prison, counting down the days till they put him to death? That must have been so amusing," he spoke, and Kai saw the corner of his mouth twitch in anger.

Kai chose silence. It was hopeless. He would not win against him. He watched him grab his sword and move towards the door. As he passed by him, he stopped and spoke again, and this time, he could hear a clear note of threat in his voice, "for the good of all, is it not? For your sake, I hope you were truthful." Then he swiftly walked out through the front door and left him standing there to stare at the Uchiha symbol glowing under the lantern . . .

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	58. Brother against Brother

**Chapter Fifty-Eight** : Brother against Brother

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The growing dusk of the house and the last light of the moon, as it sailed behind the smothering grey, shone in his sober eyes, and he saw his shadow drape itself over a sweet mottle of pink and red there—sure signs of youth. Unsure eyes stared back at him and lost the red slowly.

A young night sang colours into his eyes and looked for darkness in his ears . . . purple wings fluttering, scorching, searching in the dim purple light; Nature's fingers had stippled their wings—fluttering black eyes stared back at him, shadows dancing on the walls that closed in on him, advancing like revenge-soaked men of battle.

He did not know what it was, but as the blade moved across that young throat, red flowed out in silence. A scream came from him as his body gave a jerky forward movement and a cold feeling of denial deluged over him; _his friend_ had not died alone in the depths of the cold black waters this time. Red bled in his eyes, and that body sang with a pain he had never known in his short life.

The scene before him was dull and bleak. A slow black spread towards his sandals, and a strong smell of blood floated to him from the quiet, and it had been so disturbed now by the groans of wood beneath the body that convulsed with an unseen burden.

Rain came down, and the wood's pleas were muffled by their cold hands. It wanted to sing its own tune, drown out his wordless woes and loud stares. Its flashes glared at his tears, and he stared deep . . . oh, so deep, touching the formless fabric that rippled there with a soundless tune; its cold, cold ripples travelled into his skin, and his flesh was alight with its new song.

Red, red, and red . . . the darkening rich red in his friend's throat, and the dimming dull one in his eyes. A tune was played, and his heart trembled and trembled, sensing such trepidations travel to its core to rattle his silent soul to sing out an unsung song. It shrieked and wounds tore open in his eyes and they, too, had sung—they, too, had felt . . . that sweetness of longing and passion and death.

Then they bled deep and they bled cold and there was no relief for his soul. He went down as the darkness consumed him, pretty wings casting a shadow on his back. His cheek met the red smeared wood, putting a blush there. But it hid it, too. He was a shy one still. But it would change. It always did.

And the red pinwheel spun in the wind, and the sight turned his eyes' pin-wheels into sharp instruments his hands would never wield. They cut through his eyes, little knives that metamorphosed into worms, and wriggled out. His eyes bled as reserved martyrs, but they remained affixed on the spectacle before them. Such a delightful dance of protest, but _his_ spirit had not given up the hope to stay united with his flesh—an obscene conjoining. There was no greater intimacy to be had.

The thing came to him, silent and cold. He felt its fingers spread upon his flesh, eyes still staring deep. They did not want to leave that place—that dark, dark place—in his friend's eyes. They had seen and they had felt and they had sung, but now they had to pay the price. Little hairs stood up, alert, and gooseflesh formed on his body. It had been so tempted to taste it, too.

Just a little sip . . . and the pain was immense. Infinite. Small hooks went deep into his bones and flesh, and he was strung up like a fish. They pried it open, breaking the seams, cleaving the tendrils of his form, and he was cut open in such ways that he had never thought possible. The faceless tormentor yanked at his spirit to let him go, but it could not. It just could not. It was not the spirit's time to leave the chamber it so loved to fill to the deepest depths his own thoughts had never plumbed.

His flesh opened here, there, everywhere, like a flower—bloody petals opening their mouths to the light of salvation and passion-filled stabs of absolution. It was not his. It was not his time to go. Still his stare did not waver as he looked at the shuddering, protesting spirit get dragged out of _his_ _friend's_ body. Blood spread copiously upon the floor, flowing into the crevices and congealing there in the cold.

A smell of earth fought a relentless war with the stench, but it could not quite fend off its hard advance. Its sword was potent and its shield was cruel. The smell could not just leave this chamber alone. Light and shadow danced and sang in the rain, but his pain was without end. His flesh was torn apart, limb from limb, and yet there was not a cut on his white flesh that still possessed the suppleness of boyhood.

 _His friend's_ spirit was leaving, and his was being torn so unwillingly from his body. The hooks pulled and yanked, drawing it out of him. The little trickster had to take its leave, too. It had sung a song and called upon the great liberator. His jaws opened wide as screams filled his throat like rancid vomit. A wanton hand went deep into his throat and grabbed hold of his wet, sickly flesh, his very soul.

The cold fingers curled around its protesting, quaking form and dragged it out, and his body thrashed, his convulsions intensified, and he foamed at mouth, spewing blood; but the hand went in deeper, as though groping for bits of his spirit hiding in the crevices between his bones and flesh.

His eyes rolled around in his sockets, and the world was dark as blood in the night. The retching sounds did not stop, and the hand went deeper still till it touched something in him . . . and his whole body went cold like a lonely grave. Everything stopped. The rain had gone silent. He had gone silent. A dark menace whispered in his ear sweetly, and his sight returned.

Then it was pulled out of him, a velvet red, and it flowed from his mouth, colouring his lips and teeth in a decadent colour. Red went out of his mouth like frightened snakes, slithering away from the lantern's light that was growing duller. Sinister things that fled from the light, and he was remade in death, eyes staring at the wings, treble instruments of his fate.

Something thick struck the stones outside, and the moth flew away, and his eyes fluttered open. The man before him stopped mid-motion, shuddering at the shurikens spinning with an evil tune in his eyes—a silence he had felt and heard for the first time.

The man muttered an indistinct apology and averted his eyes and bent down to pick up the heavy padlock. His brow strained, legs shuddered a bit, and then he turned to pull open the heavy door. The thick nails grated with a coat of rust, and a stale, rot-laden air rushed out of the dull darkness undulating upon the stairs—they had put out most of the lanterns. A bone-cold light lay on the wall (covered in a layer of dank neglect) and the black floor at the foot of the chiseled stairs.

The guard stepped back, shrinking away from his tall shadow. Its blackness was a vivid mirage, a vast carriage of a forlorn desolateness. The flower's glimmer was lost today and lay tucked away behind the walls of neglect and shame and honour. He had to pluck it out of the ground again, plant it deep into his black heart's forest and its gloom, watch it grow, and feel the ripples of joy change its . . . unfriendly disposition.

The guard walked a safe distance in his wake, taking timid and cautious steps as though he feared his ire; his shadow flickered and swayed away from him, almost folding into itself as they walked into the long and narrow corridor. There was nothing here but a few broken pipes and musty smells of briny water and cheap alcohol-soaked air caressed by the night's dark hand.

But his shadow was sure as it slithered across the walls and twisted along the uneven stones like snakes as he walked. This time, there were no leaves to crunch and no lilies to distract his gaze: the lush field was a cell and the ground was a cold-stone floor. Nothing grew here but a few lingering traces of fungi. It had fed upon the musk and sweat in the air to grow in the forgotten fissures of neglect.

A terrible odour rose into the air as he drew near the cluster of fading lilies. The cool air turned humid and sick, the lilies vanished, and the night was darker now—a disappearing memory of a long forgotten autumn. A small scent of them wriggled like a restless worm in his nose, and then it was gone, a tricky spectre of his past, and left behind an airy image of a child lying still amongst their flickering colours for his changing eyes.

The veil lifted, slowly, beautifully, as he moved through the illusion dancing on quiet steps, and he was a child no more: his young flesh had filled up the mould of nature's change, and a young man sat upon the floor in his place, hardened by time, surrounded by the wilting flowers of Itachi's past. Moths had come and moths had fled away, but one fluttered close, lingering there, and red shuddered and emanated from his eyes—that, too, wore their own faces—set in a face that related a rigid control that never faltered.

Something moved back, a kind of a languid motion of darkness' able hand, dispersed before his eyes, and they became accustomed to the nature of his surroundings. It was so dirty here. Filthy. Something slick and slimy was stuck to the side of the charcoal-coloured wall. He could not tell what it was as it wriggled there, shining in the light, going into the cracks for refuge as though his heavy shadow had invaded their quiet sanctuary: maggots?

Walls were grimed and candied with dirt and soaked through with autumn rains from the small window. The floor was smeared with mud and a thick layer of dust that encrusted the little bumps, embedded in the gaps between the stones. Something festered between the layers, alive and wriggling, breeding unchecked. It was so dark and quiet here that the sounds of his breaths were enough to invade and lay waste to the silence; the light of this moon was so shy. It had laid down its weapons before the battle even began.

Pale beams struck his back, distorted, spilt over the contours of his form, and like hammers in the trusted hands of a blacksmith, beat down the thick unrelenting shadows of several bars on the young man's form, but he was still as though he had borne and worn them for ages, made a pact with fate with a brave-hearted resignation.

A frown crossed his brow, throbbing there for a moment, out of place, and a look of utmost displeasure came into his face. Then it vanished, and his eyes settled on the man who was but a boy in his eyes, just sitting there with legs folded underneath his thighs, back stooped like that of an old man's, and head bowed.

A collar was put around his neck, and a stout chain at the back was made fast to a big hook pegged deep into the wall. His hands were tied behind his back. They had removed his jacket, but he was still wearing his office uniform . . . he was just barefooted—a little white in the unforgiving dust of light. He was breathing slowly, and a little deeply, turning his face away from the light as he felt it tingle on his smooth skin marred by the sickness and rot that permeated the air like an invading pestilence.

He could not have seen it as an ornamented, Fuin-Jutsu seal cloth of a dimity sort was wound around his eyes and tied at the back in a knot. It was meant to seal the sight and ears. He doubted he could even feel much, but his shivering skin was an evidence of his working senses—the vibrations in the air had become his eyes and ears.

Itachi took a single step forward and watched the young man's face turn angry, almost resentful. A breath shuddered out of him, and he clenched his jaws for just a moment before his face faded into the same soft look of resignation. Bits of dust sparkled in the light, a mockery of a man-created morn. Itachi did not like it at all.

A feeling of freezing anger rushed through his body. It was a tidal wave of change that was mirrored by his eyes. Anger singed their surface, and they turned, bleeding there to show what his face could not. His shadow moved, still lingering an inch away from the child's shadow, as though saving it from its sinister mantle.

Itachi turned slightly and half his face was cast in light. The guard flinched again at the sight of his mien, clutching the padlock tightly as though it might slip and explode right at his feet if he dropped it again. "Why did you bring him here?" he asked, eyes dangerous and cold.

"Itachi-Sama, I-I was told that the prisoner will be kept here till his—" he stopped and dragged in that terrible air that made him cough, "—execution." He lowered his head and eyes almost immediately and felt a rigid intensity come from Itachi's eyes and strike his spirit into submission. A chill vibrated in his bones, and he clutched the padlock harder as though he had it in his mind to cast it at Itachi's face as a last resort to save his neck.

"Open it," Itachi commanded, his voice thick, and trained the eyes' light on the man's sweaty face; he was staring at Itachi, appearing quite dumbfounded, and not staring at him, too, but looking at something there in Itachi's eyes, something faceless and inwrought with a feeling that was as nameless as the sensation that had been nagging him ever since Itachi stepped foot into the prison about an hour ago.

"But I was—"

"Are you denying my command?" Itachi asked and it sounded less like a question and more like another command, with a faint note of threat that was punctuated that much more by his humourless smile.

He flinched again, as if out of a new habit he had developed in the presence of a man he'd never seen up-close till today, and moved, hand going into his pocket to pull out a thick set of keys.

The keys jangled as his hand fumbled to grab the right one. He lifted his head thrice and cracked a nervous grin, assuring Itachi that he was not doing this to make a fool out of him; he really did not know which key was needed; the damn guard before him had left in a hurry after pressing these keys into his hand.

At last, he found the right one, rammed it into the keyhole, twisted it, and saw the seals burn and fade away from the door. The man in the cell slightly stirred as he felt the vibrations and cold slide up against his skin. Then he relaxed again, his face went calm and suggested little of the misery and humiliation he had faced in this cell.

Itachi stepped into the cell, and his eyes fell upon the glass of water that lay untouched close to the prisoner's knee. The loaf of bread in the plate—under the shadow of his breast—had gone soggy and rotten: he had not touched it at all. The red was in slumber now, and Itachi watched, without that anchor, the cracks in his younger brother's lips: thirst and hunger had been his sure companions in this lonely cell.

There was just a moment's pause before Itachi moved his own hands and made the seals to cancel out the Fuin-Jutsu bindings on Sasuke's form. A slow tremble flowed in a wave through Sasuke from the surroundings—sensations, sounds, and feelings. He suddenly looked a bit more wary. He was still a child, young enough to not hide the feelings that attacked his heart with all their might now. Itachi saw: sweat formed on the visible parts of Sasuke's skin, quivering there in the cold; one of the large veins in his neck was throbbing erratically in anticipation of something dreadful and cruel.

Itachi gestured the man to remove his bindings. The man did not flinch this time, having developed a sudden sense of habitual ease to deal with him now, and tripped to Sasuke with a few clumsy steps. His hands faltered and the chain shook, clanking loudly in the gloom of silence. Slowly, and with as much care he could exhibit, he removed the collar, unclasped it from behind, undid the binds on Sasuke's hands, and untied the knot at the back of his head. Then he pulled away the cloth as it slipped down over Sasuke's cheeks. He backed away and sighed. It was done.

Sasuke brought his arms forward and blinked once, twice, thrice . . . his eyes tried hard to get used to the ugly white light coming in from the corridor. His pupils shrank and dilated as he focused his attention on the feet that invaded his vision. A cold air came to him, a tuneless oppressive sound, and then it was a shadow that brushed just a bit against his own, sending a current of realization skittering through his veins faster than blood. He craned his neck and raised his gaze to look upon his brother's countenance: it was cold, frigid, a thing made from marble.

Itachi saw the dark red that rimmed Sasuke's eyes; pallor was perceptible in his face under the untidy hair that had lost a bit of its lustre with dirt and neglect, and there was no surprise in his gaze, just a bit of innocent anger and a superficial sort of cool that hid his feelings—almost. He could not conceal the formation of a little crease in his brow. Itachi walked away from him, dragging his shadow away from his body and stopped by the door in the cell.

"Come," Itachi spoke without any emotion as he stood there motionless and still before the light to, almost deliberately, cast his shadow on the wall behind him; and then he walked away.

Sasuke breathed in twice, deep and slow, and raised himself to his feet. His joints ached and his limbs, as stiff as iron, throbbed in retaliation—he had not moved from this place through four days and nights. The new light felt strong in his eyes and on his skin. He squinted against it and walked out of the cell, struggling to keep his back straight. His legs threatened to fold beneath him, but he was too stubborn to let his body win. He climbed the stairs, leaving behind a pursuing hand of darkness and its hooked teeth, feeling a sense of freedom and elation swell in his heart against his will.

When the night wind hit him, it filled his body an invigorating sensation he had sorely missed in that cell. A smile had lost its way before it could reach his lips as his eyes peered at the darkness rising up to create walls all round him; his brother had not stopped and was moving with a poised gait and a dignified bearing towards their house.

Sasuke looked back and saw an opening in the ground vanish in the yellow grass. A little rancid smell of that place floated out, but it was trapped behind the barrier's formation. Fuin-Jutsu seals! The corner of his dry lips pulled down into a frown, and his eyes narrowed. He looked ahead, searching for his brother in the darkness below the menacing sky that growled with impatience and a full belly. Itachi had not stopped . . . and there was no use calling out to him, so Sasuke did the same after sparing the underground prison one last sour glance.

The forest around them was singing as it stood shapeless in the night. He did not know where they were, not till he come across the lake that was now but a shapeless mass with waves chasing one after another on its surface. A few lights blinked in the distance behind the twisted branches—they were outside Konoha. They walked along the edge of a dry path, and he trailed behind his brother, eyes on his back, through the haze of a distorted mist.

The walk back home was a quiet one. There was a perceivable distance between them, long enough for the older shadow to not disturb the younger one's domain. A cool wind went whispering into Sasuke's ears, and its muffled sounds intensified, hissing such wordless things now. A storm was approaching. He could tell.

Usually, Itachi always called Sasuke to his room whenever he came back home from long journeys. It had become a habit: Itachi would ask how he was, what he did, and other little things. It had been this way as long as he could remember; but tonight it was different—tonight that routine had broken—and his brother's silence was louder than the desperate wailings of wind's toothless mouths. Wind had become hungry babes, eyeless in search of her breasts that now, in search of something more, awaited the belly above their heads to split-open, spill out its innards, and feed the little beasts.

Sasuke stopped for just a moment to catch his breath; his bones ached, and a chill had gone so deep into his flesh. A hot current coursed through his veins with the blood. He was coming down with another terrible fever. He gulped down the cold air, as if it was water, and looked through the swirling deep grey that mingled with the darkness. Golden leaves, crackling and fragile, flurried in a cold wind that stung his eyes. Itachi still had not stopped . . . and anger whipped him good this time. His brother had ruined it; he had ruined it all!

A blush crawled to the crest of his cheekbones; it was so cold here that his body, now, was battling feverishly against its assaults with a weapon of anger in one hand and a shield of rebellion in another. He would not go down easy. The demonism of his brother's wicked ways was so clear to him now—so very clear. The darkness just stood at the door of his sanity, and he would open it this time and wage a war against him. Sasuke's anger morphed into determination, and he pulled in a deep breath to walk into the opening mouths of darkness.

Wind was blowing strong when they crossed the garden of their manor. Kai had been standing outside all this time, shivering. Soft rain was splashing into his eyes, and he widened his eyes and said something Itachi did not bother to heed. He kept walking, as though in chase of a helpless prey that would drop dead soon, and made his way to the damn room that was no more than a prison for Sasuke.

Sasuke let out an uneven white breath, stopped for a moment to cast Kai a look of utmost disgust, and followed his brother down the wooden stairs that led away from the main manor. The sounds of rain tinkled here, soft and subdued. Yuu stood with his back to the lantern he had lighted just now. His shadow flickered for a moment and steadied with the flame.

He turned around at the sound of Itachi's controlled steps sloshing through a layer of water upon the wood—his face grew white and surprised. He opened his mouth at the sight of Sasuke's face, which was dust-white against his coal-black hair streaked with rain and so much dirt. He looked miserable, ill, and a little angry.

"S-Sasuke-Sama, you—" he gasped and moved towards him, emotions overtaking his usually timid face, "—are you all—"

"Why is there water on the floor?" Itachi asked, face whiter than his brother's in the soft spill of light.

"The wind blew in this direction, Itachi-Sama. I'll clean it up," he explained and clamped his one hand on Sasuke's shivering shoulder and held the other above it to exude a green glow: he was trying to heal him.

"Leave him be," Itachi spoke as coldly as he could, and his face turned to them to appear black in the shadows with red decorations in his eyes that burnt bright. "Open this." He gestured with a subtle tilt of his head towards the sturdy double-door.

Yuu did not have to be told twice. He nodded and opened the thick latch on the door. Then he pushed it forward and felt a rush of warmth slide up against his skin. The fireplace was hot, and a kettle was whistling on the bronze brazier. There was food on the small table, too. The window was closed. He had done exactly as Itachi had asked.

Itachi directed his gaze to Sasuke, eyes burning hotly. Sasuke looked at them once and felt a chill rush to his heart. He did not say anything and walked into the room and welcomed the engulfing warmth. He had not expected to live through the ordeal and the terrible cold of that cell. A part of him was happy to see Itachi . . .

Sasuke slumped down against the wall, exhausted, his breathing calm now. He leant his head back, closed his eyes, and breathed in the sweet smell of tea and food. The hunger was killing him now, but the drowsiness was stronger. He began to float in the air when the loud thud of the door woke him up. He sat straight with a jerk, blinked, and bent forward, putting his face in his hands as though he was hiding it from Itachi's Sharingan.

"I am surprised you did not manage to starve yourself to death before my return," Itachi spoke and watched him pull his hands away from his face. His eyes were bleary and weak. His Sharingan had been defeated before his nature this time, but he did not meet his gaze. Silence. Thunder rumbled, impatient, and the rain answered in a sweet voice. A storm was approaching, and it would be upon them in the coming moments.

"Why be so stubborn, Sasuke?" he spoke again, his voice cold like the fingers of the dead, "why play these games?" The wind shrieked, struggled in through the gap under the door from behind Itachi, and his shadow drew near. It was no more, no less, colder than his wintry voice that was at odds with a slight red hue of his lips. Probably the only thing on his face that made him look human . . .

A red glow travelled along Sasuke's left cheek and neck as he turned his face away to look at the fire. He did not want to look upon the dreadful countenance of his brother. He knew he would find nothing but anger in his face and eyes now. The silence prolonged, finally broken by a particularly sharp whistle from the mouth of the kettle: it was emitting a gush of steam and water. The shadows by his side danced like boisterous children that wore a prickly yellow glow on their heads.

A perfumed steam still rose from the food, its aroma pleasant, but not with as much intensity as before. The food was going cold, and his hunger was diminishing, as well. He found solace in the company of dark by eluding the red. The fire was warm on his face. The sky growled again with a full-belly, and the wind's answer was sweet still—a child's plea.

"What mess have you made for me this time?" Itachi finally asked, his voice less sweeter than the rain's and the wind's. Sasuke could hear it so clearly in the murmurs of begotten mouths. His gaze was distracted by a streak of red that travelled along the edges of a heavy set of drawers set against the wall. The red in his own vision needed the cadence to rise again to the surface. Sasuke did not have it in him to battle Itachi's red tonight—not now.

"Silent, always silent," Itachi said in one of his softer tones that his voice was almost gentle. "When I so desire for you to stay put, you never listen. And when I want you to speak, you choose silence. You have grown so . . . disobedient, hot-headed, and stubborn."

Thunder struck the room, scrapping the wooden walls, begging to be let in. It disturbed his brother's voice for a moment that was still resonating in the room, but the coldness that laced through it sweetly hung between them as though a menacing spirit. It moved, undulating, silent.

"I am speaking to you, you ill-mannered child," he said, and this time, his voice did not get caught up in the wind. It was piercing-cold—colder than the ravenous mouths that begged before their mother to feed their hungry bellies. Sasuke shivered, pulled his knees close, and locked his arms around his knees—just like a child.

"Have it your way. I will find out in the coming moments, regardless," Itachi said and his voice was still the same, an angry intonation invading its smooth tone. Sasuke heard his steps move towards the door. Then he heard him stop to add: "You create such dreadful surprises for me, but this time, I will make sure that you are remorseful."

A scraping and a thudding sound came to Sasuke, and he turned his face to the door. Itachi had closed it behind him. He was alone now in the company of dark and shadows. He heard indistinct voices speak beyond the door, but it was no use . . . thunder was too loud. He returned his tired eyes to the comforting red of the flames, and his face turned so angry. Kai had saved her on purpose, and the thought made him grit his teeth, his face warping, contorting in loathing, red rising like slips of fish to skim the black waters in his eyes . . .

# # # # # #

A strong wind swept at him from the mountains. It carried the rot and cold of autumn. The ground was uncertain beneath his feet, shivering in fear from the coming lashes of an angrier thunder. The wind had gone shrill, no longer sweet before its pleas. He raised his eyes and saw lights flicker in Tsunade's office. It was not really a surprise: the guard had been quick to report to Danzō.

Itachi made his way to the office with quick and stiff steps. Arguing voices from the door intruded on his ears, but he did not slow down; he did not have the luxury. When he pushed open the door, he saw silhouettes. He had put the red to sleep for now. They had gone silent at the sight of his countenance that betrayed a mild hint of displeasure.

He did not turn to close the door and gave it a slight push with his hand. The click of it was louder in the sweet silence. Its sound was sucked in by the walls with a sudden temptation. Warm glow radiated from the lantern sitting on her table that was still cluttered with an untidy mess . . . and sake. It was a red one tonight.

"You—" Danzō began in a voice that had the rough and jagged edges of old age, "—how dare you remove the prisoner without my consent?"

Itachi considered him for a moment, eyes tracing his real form out of the haziness of a greying shadow. "It is in my authority to handle the prisoners as I see fit," he spoke in a smooth and firm voice, his face a blank canvas below the hovering brush of emotions.

Danzō turned around and his body assumed a darker shade. Behind him, his shadow climbed up to engulf one part of the ceiling. He tapped his stick lightly on the floor the way blind men did. It seemed as though he had lost his way and found himself in a room he had no place in. "Your brother has committed yet another remarkable act of treason. I would have sent you his head as a welcoming gift, but you have the Hime under your thumb," he said, a chill of age and anger lacing through his raspy voice.

"Hold your tongue, you miserable old fool!" Tsunade retorted, letting her hand fall from the large table. Her cheeks had an angry red tint that glowed in the light.

Light spread out, a soft wave, towards them as she took a single step back to increase the distance between Danzō and herself. His old face was cast in light and shadow, but their trick was not enough to hide the deep marks of age in his withered face. The grooves appeared deeper, more pronounced in the light.

"You are so hasty to reach a conclusion, Danzō," Shikaku said, appearing tired. His deep-lined brow was frowning beneath the black hair. Sweat lined his brow, and his hair was wet with perspiration. He was usually a reserved fellow, but he appeared a little agitated tonight.

"Where are the rest of the council members?" Itachi asked, and his eyes roved over the hazy faces and settled on the deep shadows under Danzō's eyes. There was a glint of wickedness in their deeps. He did not require the Sharingan to see the unrest and uneasiness prodding at his heart.

"Danzō has called for a meeting tomorrow," Shikaku said and heaved a sigh. His frown deepened.

"He always likes to trick us with his games," Tsunade remarked, cast a glance at the temptation sitting on her table, and allowed herself a little smile. "Don't you, Danzō?"

"Enough!" Danzō retorted in a throaty hiss and struck his stick on the floor with as much strength as his age could allow him—as if to punctuate a point. The sound reverberated in the quiet. Thunder had chosen not to impede its path. His eyes travelled to the slim and tall figure that stood silent and dark in the drape of shadows.

"Your brother," he spoke, voice shuddering in the depth of his old throat, ringing there as though a rusty clapper of a temple's bell, "he has killed another one of my trusted men—Torune." He was shivering in anger, teeth clenched, back straight like his stick.

A beat thrummed from Itachi's heart, going deep, diminishing like a weak vibration. Then it collided against the ethereal substance that lay still and quiet in the deep recesses of his mortal frame, slumbering; and it stirred in answer, releasing a whirlwind of sounds and smells and colours that went through his bones and flesh and blood, coming back with such force to crash into his heart again with a new song: _A wild child, stay wild, filled with mistrust, beguiled_. It was singing now, moaning in such distress, fear, love.

The glaring old-eye was bent on him, and for the first time in his life, Itachi felt a sinister chill unfurl its serpent coils in his heart. The little hairs on his nape reacted, his blood turned a little cold, and the thrumming became louder; but he had control, such frightening control, and he did not let him invade his calm any longer.

"They are dropping like spring gnats," he spoke with a faint touch of near child-like amusement in his tone, watching as the shivering upper-lip pulled back on pink-gums with a ferocious sneer of contempt.

"How dare you!" Danzō hissed this time and advanced towards Itachi, hoping to win a challenge, but his languid feet stopped short—as though they'd been clogged with mud and rotten leaves of autumn—at the sight of the threatening red emerging from the depths in Itachi's eyes. He tapped his stick on the floor twice and turned his face away to escape the tricks of Itachi's visions.

Lightning cracked down on them and filled the room with a blinding flash of brightness. It vanished quickly and left small webs running in different directions in their visions, but the red had stayed—it always did. "If you had found him guilty, then I would have seen his head on a pike on my doorstep—a free gift from your generous hands. Is that not so? A hasty man like you would not have let this chance slip by," Itachi said, and this time, his eyes changed to spin as shurikens. Tsunade and Shikaku were quiet.

"How long will you protect him—shield his lies?" Danzō asked and shifted on the spot a little to cast him a terrible gaze, and his face had suddenly burrowed itself under the sludge of shadows again. "We shall see how you drag him out of such a terrible crime. He has killed two of my men in cold blood. I will not abide treachery." His last breath came out as a shuddering and noisy sputter. He was shaking in anger, his old frame vibrating in rage.

"For Sage's sake—" Shikaku mumbled and wiped his forehead clean, his face wearing displeasure. They all watched as Danzō walked out of the office with robust steps, his stick clicking against the wooden floor.

Tsunade grabbed the small glass from the table and emptied it in a single breath. Light trickled over her face, and the blush glowed with a deeper flush in her supple cheeks. Breaths hissed out from between her teeth, and she made a silly face after she passed her tongue over lips to rediscover the sting of pleasure. That sake was good!

"Send the letters to the council members," Tsunade spoke and let out a puff of warm air through her nostrils and nodded her head a few times. "Make haste." She gestured to the door with a quick movement of her hand. Shikaku sighed but did not object. He left the room with quick steps.

With the shadows gone, the lantern cast enough light now and limned the sharp contours of her beautiful face. "Made another mess—your brother has," she spoke as she turned around to pour out another glass for herself. She was clumsy and sloshed a little sake on the scroll. It did not seem to bother her.

"Has he?" Itachi asked and there was a subtle hint of curiosity in his voice that she found to be mocking.

Tsunade turned around fully, fingers tightening around the empty sake cup. "Don't play games, boy," she hissed, ruddy cheeks growing redder still. "They found the rascal with his throat cut in the forest. The same wound—just as deep, too. He was bled dry. We couldn't even find a memory in his mind. What did that wild child tell you?" She gulped and pressed the glass to her lips just to take a whiff of that sharp smell.

"He has not said anything to me. He is angry that I left him all alone in the cell to be punished. Such a child he is. But why ask me when your mind is already made?" Itachi spoke and there was a ghostly smile that hovered over his lips this time. He looked almost amused.

Tsunade's face contorted, and she threw the glass to the wooden floor and broke it. Its shards spread out, glinting in the sparse light. He lazily looked at the broken glass and then to her. There was no change in his expression. "Don't mock me!" she warned, voice hissing in the grip of a cold anger, lips as red as ripe berries, shuddering.

"But I am not," he said, his tone calm—serene—his eyes fire-struck like a dangerous mechanism, face sinister in a silhouette. "If you had found something, you never would have asked me of it."

"I protected him. Had it not been for me, he would—"

"Have you?" Itachi cut across her and took a single step towards her. She was in half a mind to move away from him, but she held her ground and raised her eyes and face to meet his eyes. Red had come out of them, and they bled unchecked with an eerie aura. It chilled her. "He was rotting away in a cold cell in my absence. All it took was one leave—you could just not wait to tighten your grasp on him." Then he bent his head down, and she felt as though he was pouring that cold red sludge straight into her eyes.

"Still the same accusation? Haven't you grown weary of it?" Tsunade asked and reached for another glass on the table to distract herself. "They had evidence against your wild brother, but Kai came through. The boy was with him and the chakra in his body was good and strong. It couldn't have been a clone. But Danzō had evidence that he killed Torune in the forest—slashed his throat nearly in two. Ibiki confirmed it, but he couldn't have been at two places at once.

"That's _not_ the only thing that saved your brother. I stopped Danzō from reading his mind on grounds of Clan secrets. I couldn't have allowed it in your absence. You're the new Clan head, after all. You should be thankful that I kept your secrets safe." Then she tapped her hand against her breast twice and clamped her lips together in a tight line and spoke no more.

To Tsunade's surprise, he smiled, and stared down at her thoughtfully—butterflies appeared in reality's translucent fabric, changed into moths about him, and then they vanished. She looked about him, confused. He could only smile. "Tricky child," he said and turned away to walk out of the office, and she did not have it in her to stop him. She reached a hand up to feel cool sweat come out of her pores. What was that?

# # # # # #

Itachi's heart was beating in the grip of a ferocious anger—the kind he had never felt before. It pumped poison into his heart as a cold rain stung his skin with tiny, skin-hurting bites. The child had trodden too far into the dark. How would he pull him back this time? He grimaced, teeth clenching as rain poured down on him hard. His steps were quick and swift, eyes watching as rain dug deep ruts into the soft ground of his garden.

He did not stick around to see them beat down the child-like lilies into a deep bow. He walked to the room and saw nothing but red now. The anger was so immense. He did not want to unleash it on the child, but his wildness had wounded him this time. Was he even aware of the severity of his mistake? Breaths sharply hissed from his lips when he heard the sounds of Karin's giddy laughter float to him from the room.

When Itachi pushed open the door, dripping and cold, all of them went silent. The fire in his eyes blazed bright, and he directed all of its intensity towards Sasuke, watching as he slowly rose to his feet, trying hard to hide the look of a child awaiting punishment at his hands.

"Leave," Itachi hissed, and his voice oozed malevolence. No one argued at the sight of his warped countenance. Kai bowed and left the room. Karin hesitated for a moment, but she, too, left with a reluctant Yuu. The door closed behind them, and the sounds of their wet steps on the soaked wood dimmed and vanished in the storm.

Sasuke took two steps forward and blinked. He wanted to say something. "I would've—" He could not say any more as Itachi struck him across the face with an open palm; the strength was such that Sasuke stumbled back and tasted his own blood. His lip was split open and his vision swayed. Hot anger boiled to the brim, red bloomed in Sasuke's eyes, and he raised his face to glare . . . when Itachi struck him again; Sasuke almost lost his balance this time and a metallic, warm taste filled his mouth.

But Itachi was unrelenting as he struck him again: first on the right cheek and then on the left. The last one _beat_ the wild nature out of him. His head jerked and he collapsed to his knees, wheezing. He was hungry, he was thirsty, and he was sick. The marks burnt raw, but the shame burnt him without measure.

Sasuke sat like this for a few moments, vision swirling, breathing heavy and strained. Itachi's violence had popped open the flesh inside his cheeks. He did not have it in him to bear his anger, his beatings. His fever was rising, sizzling his flesh from the inside, that he puffed and blew now.

Sasuke felt a cold hand brush against his throat, and he was lifted up by his dirty collar to stand on his feet. He braved a glance up into his brother's wicked eyes: carrion eaters of his dreams. His vision dimmed for a fleeting moment, and a terrible silence descended on him. His brother's face . . . Sasuke had never seen such anger etched in his face, not even on that night when he had broken his bones and his pride in the dark that swallowed his screams and his misery without any reluctance. Itachi looked murderous as though he was about to take his life.

"What did you do?" Itachi asked as his low voice tapered off to a cool hiss, and for the first time in his short life, Sasuke saw his lips vibrate with anger.

"What did you . . . do?" he asked again and appeared almost confused as he lifted Sasuke further up, and his feet could not quite find purchase on the warm wooden-floor. Itachi's hand traversed his throat, and he applied a little pressure as if he was endeavouring to choke the fight out of him.

Sasuke had nothing to say. His tongue battled the silence, and his heart thumped wildly against his ribcage. It was no use, Itachi would never understand, he never could. A bright light flickered out of Itachi's eyes, and Sasuke's body shuddered—it had awoken Sasuke out of his stupefaction.

He tried to touch the floor but only the tips of his toes could feel the smoothness of the polished wood. Itachi raised his head, stretched his neck just like a crow, trembling, and beheld his gaze replete with the innocence of childhood.

"What did you do?" Itachi shouted in his face this time, and he had never heard him shout—for as long as he could recall, he had never heard him shout. Itachi's lips had gone red with the heat of an angry blood and lost was the languid coolness it was typically so accustomed to.

"Let go," Sasuke snarled this time, his anger matching his. He pushed him back with all his strength. Itachi's grip slackened. Sasuke fell back and almost tumbled down to the floor, but he regained his balance. His legs were tired and they threatened to give way. He placed his hand on the wall for support and listened to the subdued shriek of thunder.

"Did you . . . kill Torune?" Itachi asked, and he was so quick to remedy the patient rest of silence.

The lantern's light spilt on Sasuke, and he was remorseless. The bruises glowed a fierce red on his cheeks. He was overtaken by anger now. "Damn you," Sasuke hissed and straightened his back. Red crawled down his chin and dripped down to the floor and left a little trace of red on his white toes, too. He spat out the blood and returned the bold gaze to his brother's livid face.

"Why did you do this? How could you—how dare you?" Itachi spoke, and his voice was sharp like a cutting blade that was without feeling.

Sasuke sat down; his legs had lost the strength to support him. "I have nothing to say to you. If you think I should be put to death, then let them take me. I don't care. Get out of my sight—out!" he rasped, his voice approaching a feral growl; and then he smiled and showed Itachi a face that wore a child-like wild innocence upon it without the burden of shyness.

Itachi did not speak. He clenched his fingers into terrible fists. His anger had not subsided, but the sight of Sasuke pained him. The still air was keen in its search of his anger. It was not lost; it was not thawed; and if he stayed here, he would be so unkind to him.

"You wicked child . . . " Itachi spoke, his voice heavy as he watched Sasuke put his forehead on his knees after he squeezed his thighs together.

Itachi turned away and approached the door—that's when Sasuke's voice stopped him: "you look _just_ like Otō-Sama . . . "

Sasuke's words floated to him from the vast obscurity of silence. The storm was spent, thunder quiet, and those words had _just_ driven out Itachi's anger . . .

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	59. Dead Men Don't Talk

**Chapter Fifty-Nine** : Dead Men Don't Talk

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It was the dark of the night, and the bamboo grove was flooded with a soft bright light; a full moon had risen over that spot. Shadows were thick behind their backs and white light sparkled off the glassy masks on their faces. They had a peculiar sheen to them that made the blue and red marks more apparent.

In the darkness, they were black figures with billowing shadows wrapped around the bodies. The only things truly discernible about their constitutions were the bright monkey, fox, and rabbit faces, a make-believe visage for the inquisitive eyes; but that was what Anbu stood for—a shroud for friend and foe made by the precarious nature of witless hands. There really was nothing more to say on the matter.

Their countenances were dark and jovial and thoughtfully benign, or whatever the common mask pretended to exhibit; it was meant to conceal the miens: stern or afraid, a foe was never meant to know—it was a secret.

They steadily ran over water that had gathered on the soggy ground after the rains. No one heard a splash. They were meant to approach the foes silently. They jumped over the thin stream, landing on a pebble-riddled slush of wet earth and rain. Their legs bent slightly on touch-down. It was a soundless leap, but the last man made a rather generous splash when his feet braced the ground.

All of them stopped suddenly, and an eerie silence befell the place where they now stood. They gazed back at him: their eyes were various accusatory bright dots in the masks, and he ran a hesitant hand across the bristles of tawny hair on his head. A nervous laugh rumbled behind the rabbit mask. He might have been embarrassed, but it was difficult to tell; his visage wore such an obnoxious smile upon its shiny face.

The man at the front spun away and burst into a run. His feet did not touch the ground as he ran at top speed for the Valley jammed between two steep, smooth-faced mountains. They loomed over the dry land like large faceless giants. Others followed in his wake and strained themselves to match his speed. Two men pounded side by side over the hard-earth, with three more at their heels. Rains had left this place alone.

Black forms melded into the large shadow and kept pressing on for the gorge flanked by the granite walls ahead. One by one, they leapt into the darkness, putting chakra beneath their feet to skid safely down the bone-crushing slick flank of the hill. It merged at the bottom with another one to form deep round crater that was full of a black sludge of ugly shadows.

Red flickered on in the slits of the masked man who was still ahead of the small group. Feeling the powerful ripple of chakra from his body, another pair burnt red in the fox mask. He could not see the eyes, but he could almost feel their hot intensity in the chakra he exuded; so he chased him, hoping to match his pace and shadow. It was his dream to run ahead of him, beat him and earn the much-coveted blessings of his cold father—even in spirit.

But at that moment, it was merely a passing thought that cost him a small part of a second. His eyes saw the movements before he made them—he was about to leap off the flank. He did the same, following the direction of his jump to land on the branches engulfed in such darkness beyond the crater.

The men behind him did the same and followed like good, obedient soldiers. That was what they were trained for—that was what their purpose in life was. They were meant to follow. Their thoughts and desires were obsolete notions in their lives. Nothing mattered before the _Will of Fire_. Nothing.

A fleeting, wispy mist permeated the space, and a smell of damp rot rushed in their direction. They had probably crossed the border of Rain Village. A pattering sound came to their ears, and the smell became stronger. It rained hard with the arrival of autumn in this village. A desperate, porous veil of mist was trying to reform itself over and over again, but it was all for naught. He knew it was a hopeless struggle.

Soon, he felt the rain on the back of his neck and arms. A wisp of black hair had traversed his pale forehead, and the wetness there had made it cling to the shivering damp skin. Cool raindrops had gotten in through the mask's slits. The thing was hardly waterproof.

Dense branches overhead were ripe with flora. They had burst into bloom during the rains. His Sharingan saw the pretty colours and chakra in their venous petals and branches. It was a scene of spring in such a gloomy season of mist and autumn. The deep ground was choked with thick mud, and, everywhere, unsheared shrubs had grown into massive mounds of tangled twigs and leafy branches. Colourful flowers popped out of the sludge at the foot of the trees. The ground would drink it good come morning. It was only a matter of time.

He did not know why he was even following him. Why? Well, he was asked to. It was a command that demanded utmost obedience. He had to cringe before him, put aside his natural closeness, and uphold the request like nothing else mattered. His heart had beaten in _such_ protest. They were close, but he had to obey him like this daily: his father had perished years ago, so he answered to him now—just him, only him . . .

But now was not the time to play family. It was a duty bestowed upon him, and he had to see it through. He was asked. Then he had to do as he was told, and he had asked of him to follow, stay silent, and only observe without any wild interferences: an strange selection of simple commands.

But why did it matter? That was how they all learnt. It was beaten into their heads till it became a second habit to their bodies: obey the command, sneak past the enemy, cut down the foes like unwary cattle. It really was as simple as a mechanism that drove Anbu men as if hungry dogs led barking and slavering in chase of a few meaty bones.

Simple rules. Simple consequences. That was all in the life of an Anbu shinobi. No unnecessary questions tripped from their tongues. They had to train them, rein their wild heads towards the gates of silence to keep the unpleasant words to themselves, bury them deep into their breasts from where no whisper escaped the stubborn soul that naturally sought its freedom. No, it was only meant to hope for such an elusive dream.

He shrugged off the menacing feeling and looked ahead. He was meant to chase and aim ahead. That was what he had trained himself to do, and that was what he would do. A misty grey wind pushed him back, but he was no child. His feet were cold, but he kept leaping from one branch to the next to catch up to him.

The distance was reduced, or the man had slowed down, he could not say. It was always hard to tell what _he_ was thinking. Rain hit his skin hard like little pebbles. The gaps between the branches above his head had widened. They provided very little cover now. The noise was rising to a loud crescendo. There was not going to be any respite for them tonight.

Suddenly, the swift man in front jumped down and ran into the dark and crooked trees. They, too, went behind him. Slithering across the sopping wet patch of grass, they came upon a muddy clearing under the full moon. Rain had pounded the flowers into the ground and dug up the vulnerable earth. The hard-packed one next to the moss-encrusted stones lay untouched. A rotten odour rose with such persistence around them. It was not a pleasant smell.

A pearly grey mist rose unabated as the rain thinned, and this time, it was a clear, thin veil around them. The man suddenly stopped and they did the same, looking around curiously to peer into the shapeless mass of so many shadows. Foes could be hidden behind the slanting cluster of trees. Some had learnt clever tricks to extinguish their chakra. Only the red eyes were blessed with the power to sniff out such wicked tricksters—sensing always failed them.

The sound of rain mellowed, tinkling like silver coins on the slick surface of wet stones. Deep fissures adorned their forms and fungi grew in-between them as viscous and thick green-surprise, giving off a musky and wet scent he could smell from several feet away. The air was filled thick with it. Persistent rains had given them a fertile ground to germinate and spread. It was piled upon the base of the trees—a thick slime. An odd sort of place for a short respite, he did not understand . . .

Suddenly, the silent man's hand flickered to the hilt on his back, and he vanished with such speed that he barely saw him move. His Sharingan had failed him . . . again. A slow, burning resentment rose like a torrent in his breast, but it was quickly overcome by shock and fear as he saw blood fly up into the damp air—hot red plumes from deep cuts in white throats.

Severed necks tipped back with unnatural shudders, and one crackled to the right and fell off to the ground like a ball, bouncing once on the soggy grass before hitting the puddle of mud with a dull splash. The rabbit mask slowly came off and revealed the smiling and confused face of a man he had never seen before. He . . . did not even get a chance to truly taste death, and it had consumed him. His head bobbed grotesquely in the mud, and a few bubbles rose to the surface and popped there as his final exhalation. Then the ghastly face turned a little to the left and sank below the thick surface. Now he could only see the tawny, prickly hair on the head.

The flak jackets were soaked red: happy masks, streaked with wisps of fresh blood as though trailing marks of shaky fingers. Even the rain was not strong enough to wipe them clean—metallic stench of hot blood nearly overpowered the rotten smell of fungi. His hand went to the slits on the mask to press against the porcelain surface. He could _still_ smell it: it was rotten, disgusting, revolting.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Fear giving way to shock as if a feeble and dilapidated building standing on its last leg beneath a powerful storm that was meant to destroy, consume, and ravage all in its path. What . . . what had he done? He pulled off the mask slowly, watching as the quiet killer crouched down by a dead man, his face still smiling obnoxiously in death; and he was forced to suppress the ghost of a laugh that rippled humorlessly in his throat. He was almost disgusted with himself—almost . . .

The man raised his head and observed his white face that was pelted relentlessly by rain. He wore a smiling face of a fox with pink lines running down the sides. An uncharacteristic, mild blush rose in his cheeks in repose to the rain as warm blood danced defiantly in his skin. It was bitterly cold now, and a soft admiration fled in panic from his fear-filled countenance. He stared in open-mouthed horror at the corpses and gulped down the raindrops as they went into his mouth.

The fox-faced man slowly rose to his feet in a dignified and resilient manner. His bearing was stern, sure, deadly. The sword was held in his slackened grip. It returned the murky reflection of his young face and red eyes behind a clear and smooth layer of cold water trailing down its edges. It was clean now, washed of all the sins and all the blood. Red had disappeared into the welcoming, and forever-greedy, soft earth of this Village. There was just a little of it left now in the fibers of the jackets. That, too, would surely disappear soon.

His hand reached to his back and sheathed the sword with a sharp, cutting sound as it filled the sheath completely. Then his hand went to the smiling face that mocked the dead and pulled the soft layer away to reveal the sober and kindly countenance of a young man: another mask. Long tear lines were etched into his face like a memory. A soft smile ghosted over his face, touching those deadly eyes . . . and they softened almost instantly, melting the red there to return to the deep dark he was so familiar with.

He walked to him and stopped, still smiling as though he had not killed them in such a horrific manner. His hand reached sluggishly for his wet hair, and he patted his head so affectionately, and spoke in a voice that sounded so strange in that soul-chilling moment of the unkind murders, "come, Sasuke, let us not linger here. We have to leave."

Then he put the mask back on and started walking back to Konoha. Sasuke looked to the dark shadows that lay in the mud, lifeless, and the perfect, theatric expressions of the stained masks almost about to burst into a delirious laugh at the fates of foolish Anbu men who wore them; but dead men did not talk. They did not laugh. They did not smile. And then he stared at his beloved brother's back in equally long measures. He did not understand him at all . . .

Such were the few days he had spent in Anbu-training. A few spats with his brother had earned him a life-long removal from Anbu-division. It was but a dream now. Sasuke sighed, shoulders slumping a little with fatigue, but he straightened his back when the deep voice of his brother broke him out of his reverie.

He blinked, eyes tired, and tried to get accustomed to the dark room. Sparse light emerged from a lantern set before his brother, Itachi, in weak waves that folded in smoothly against the darkness. Partition screens lay quiet, donning the shadows of Councilmen. They were beautiful and exquisite, painted with delicate brush strokes to create thick flames and dragons roaring in silence—lost voices, quiet sounds, calm thunder in the breasts of inky Men and beasts and storms.

A man sitting beside Sasuke spoke, his voice rough and strained. He did not heed his words as he was distracted by a bold autumn-moth wriggling into the room through a small gap in the paper-screen. Morning's wind had cut into it with a cold assault. Its delicate wings fluttered with nervous haste as it struggled to find the right air for flight.

Its wings looked mighty as a growing shadow, intruding upon the empty space with a weightless black drape—shuddering little thing, so threatening in the cold grip of dark. It finally located the path of its flight, hesitated for a moment, and then it mounted upon the thread of air suffused with chakra . . . it so adored as though it was its own.

Sasuke's gaze followed its steady path; it was being pulled towards the source by an invisible string he could not see even with the rise of passion in his eyes. It landed on Itachi's shoulder and went behind his back, wings moving in such delight now that it had found its mark. Its murky shadow merged with Itachi's defined black one, and it seemed to him that his brother had grown wings, too.

Black hair streamed over his brother's shoulders in the manner of a King's Son—so many moons past. His clan had not thrown away their traditions. Itachi had chosen to leave his hair open today: sinister-black framed the winter-white that shone with a sickly brilliance of a man's skin barely approximating supple flesh. His haori was expensive, his eyes sober, and when he spoke, his voice was a cold and gentle breeze over water.

Red was a stagnant pool in the younger one's eyes and innocent face—innocent mischievousness and anger hiding beneath the shadows, eyes peeking out from a hard face, looking through the rising gloom. His brother's gaze had not answered his this time; blind to his plight and misery—as always. Anger had not let go of Sasuke.

Sasuke turned his face away and hid it in waves of shadows that still remained, relentless in their pursuit of being armed rebels that fought a losing battle: a proud hunter running in the gloam, chasing after the shadows in the dimming light. Soon, they would merge and a shapeless fate would befall them—for another night. Dusk broke them free, and rise they would with passions and vengeance in their breasts.

Murmurs rose and fell, yet his heart was a quiet place of silenced thoughts. He did not want to think with tongues lest their whispers be heard by his brother's heeding ears. He sat crossed-legged, weary. Then he bent forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and forehead in his right hand. Hidden behind the looming shadows, Itachi's eyes could not have seen his relaxed posture. He sat so far away from him, left to fume and worry behind men that mattered—tonight.

Hushed voices continued, dangling there in the air like weightless things. Footsteps moved to his right and to his left; all of them had come to gaze upon the new Head—from another city in the fire country, from nooks and corners of this village, half-breeds in tow. His gaze was in darkness. He chose majestic silence in the arms of a stubborn anger that, too, had its own merits: remnant of pride; gristle of arrogance.

Thoughts drifting further into the domain of his past, on timid steps they trod, and he found himself nearly peeking into his father's room. There he would sit, back to him and _all_ of his little world; a light would blink against the draft behind his back—Mikoto had gone out to wait for Itachi in the garden. His small shadow lingered a moment too long, and he looked over his shoulder, red diminishing from his face, lips parting in the grey haze of his room to speak—his name: "Sasuke . . . "

"Sasuke, are you ill?" he asked, a shadow's lips moving. He could not see him that clearly. Always hidden from his gaze and his heart he was. His small heart was set to a quicker pace and its loud voice rose to a falsetto.

"Sasuke, are you ill?" he spoke again, and this time, his thoughts were broken, and a little spill of light invaded the dark cover his hand assured.

Sasuke pulled his hand away and gazed; the room was empty. They had left, all of them, and discarded odours from traditional perfumes and smells imparted by dyes' in new cloths inside the large room. The vibrancy of colour had dispersed from the room—like the smells. Silence approached, a menacing presence.

His brother spoke again, and his tone was like their father's. Itachi sounded . . . _just_ like their father. It was as though his words had serrated teeth of resemblance, and now they gnawed at the base of his spine. He pretended not to heed him and slowly rose to his feet and threw away the cloak of grey mist upon his shoulders—incense smoke was still coming from the pots as thin, twisting lines.

Sasuke's gaze roamed the room, roamed the darkness beyond Itachi's shoulders. It slept in Itachi's eyes beneath the smear of black that lay upon his face still. Sasuke saw it wriggling now, and he felt sick to his stomach. "Anger should never make you blind to your health," Itachi spoke, his voice a soft breath on ice against his shivering form.

Then, before he could move, Itachi rose to his feet with a regal bearing, soft garments trailing in his wake as he approached him, dragging the shadows of wings in his wake. He walked with such a quiet grace that the thick wooden-floor absorbed any evidence of his presence.

Itachi's face came into weak spill of light, and Sasuke took in the countenance of a man who was as merciless as he was beautiful: his brother, his tormenter, his father . . . for a moment, he was left tongue-less by this new visage of royal mockery, bewitched by this wicked grace he knew to be just an act, a personification of perfection—another convenience.

"Still so angry that your eyes do not thaw?" he asked, voice unchanging, mien shrouded in steely indifference.

At that moment, from the wounds, something akin to dark despair crept slowly up the length of his spine, and he was suddenly fearless in the face of his brother. "I really hate your cold and smug face. An entire council under your thumb—hope you're proud of yourself," Sasuke said, sounding rough, face betraying defiance and anger.

Itachi did not move an eyebrow. His face was still the same, frozen in an expression that guarded his thoughts well. Itachi considered him for just a moment, and his eyes drifted to the sweat gathering copiously at his still shivering nape. Whether he was afraid or feverish, he could not say.

"Your little fury . . . " Itachi said, and his eyes glimmered with a cool fire in the softening dark, a manifestation of his usual aloofness, " . . . are you not content that I took you out of the prison? You really desired to rot there? You child." He smiled just at the corners of his mouth, and his smile was such that it appeared equally exquisite and frigid—this angered Sasuke even more.

"You did this," he hissed, and a black anger filled his face, a whirlpool of fury sending flashes racing towards the back of his eyes that they burnt brighter, fiercer than usual. "You saved her. Did you ask Kai to protect that soiled wench? Are you _fucking_ her?"

Itachi's placid eyes reflected no anger at his remark, though his ghost-smile slowly faded away right before his eyes. The dark was palpable about him now and fluttered, impatient, like the shadow's wings. "You have become such a sponge for boorish remarks. I always knew it was a terrible mistake to let you mix with the runts of Rain," Itachi spoke, and his matter-of-fact manner of speech was as harsh as ever.

Anger lashed Sasuke's bones and furious tremors rushed through his blood in violent waves. He craned his neck and looked Itachi straight in his eyes that beheld him through the grey of mist and supreme lens of authority. "Did you?" his asked again, and his eyes widened to show him the red that nearly spilt over to consume the white there. "You have no taste. Just what I would expect from a lapdog—you always were so common."

The venom in his words gave an unexpected shock to Itachi's senses. Suddenly, there was fire in his black-eyes that cut through the unwavering cool upon his visage like a deadly blade. His brow furrowed, and almost by reflex, his hand shot forward and a fierce grip grasped the back of Sasuke's neck with such force that, for a feeling moment, the hollow at the base of his throat pulsed, jumping as if he had just been puffing through a fierce run to elude his tormentors.

"Your language is coarse . . . " Itachi paused and drew a slow breath to calm his temper, " . . . vulgar. Have you no shame?"

Light sparked in the dark outside and flowed in through the barrier of paper-screens. It illuminated Sasuke's red eyes more and the side of his sweaty face: he did not seem intimidated. His heart was his only betrayer as it throbbed in his visible veins like a spectator's show. He was just a child who had not even begun to sprout.

"Let go," he hissed with a clear warning, innocent face warping in anger and defiance, lips shaking with such cold fury to match his brother's cool passions. He was not backing down.

Itachi's eyes glided across his features that had not returned to the state he preferred in the face of his changing demeanour, but he himself had calmed down. It was a sudden, reflex action, and he was quick to recover from that unnecessary slip. His grip slackened, hand pulled away from his neck, and he backed away wordlessly.

"I have not touched that girl," Itachi spoke in a softer tone. "Would this confession satisfy you?" He straightened his back and thrust his hands into the long and luxurious sleeves.

"You liar," Sasuke accused in the same tone of voice as he glared at him with upturned eyes. "Kai wouldn't have done anything had it not been for you. Do you think I'm a fool? You've ruined everything. You—you're _such_ a liar."

Sasuke stepped a little to the right and came into the bowing combers of light. His eyes appeared all the brighter with the dark behind his back now. More light came forth that ran from the belly of the clouds with loud, shattering steps. It would rain again tonight—autumn had overstayed its welcome this time; winter's cold hand had not attained the strength to fell it—yet.

"Why are you so consumed by anger?" Itachi asked, and the cool tone of his voice remained unchanged. "What ails you now? Are you dissatisfied with your easy release? Do you always crave punishment? I must confess, I am not equipped with the means to grant you the thrills you so crave—forgive your brother." His demeanour now was the perfect distillation of his sanctimonious nature: his condescending talk, his indifferent face, and his commanding bearing—all of this, for him, was such a perfect fit that Sasuke's could not help but smile at this meticulous façade of illusions. Such a trickster his brother was.

"Look at you," he began, a contemptuous curl of disdain showing itself on his softer features with haste, red rising in tow along the contours of his cheeks, "the same sanctimonious tone, the same tongue—coming from you, it's just . . . funny."

Itachi replied with a cool silence, and his gaze crawled off Sasuke's face to find a distraction in the painting hanging in the alcove. It was drenched in the paint of shadows. The sword-stand before it was dark and black: he could not even see the fine hilts. Red would have to mate with the black in his gaze to see through the rapturous curtains of haze.

"You're just like Otō-Sama," Sasuke said, and his lips were so dry, his voice so low that Itachi's eyes moved back to him with a sudden swiftness; the mood in his gaze's impenetrable depth metamorphosed so slowly into something unreadable. "He was your architect. Nothing about you is different—just as insufferable as he was. It hurts me because—" he stopped, breath scalding his throat, "—because I loved him."

Sasuke turned his face away as a sheen came across his eyes. Itachi was still quiet, face expressionless, eyes empty; he was looking at him now, heart cool, sturdy in the grip of control. The shadow falling on Sasuke was thick now—a lamp had died behind Itachi's back, but his shadow's perch on Sasuke's body was always assured. The spacious room boasted high ceilings and the walls were quiet as monks vowed to silence—stillness and dark germinated unchecked with no bright hands to smother them now.

"I won't let you—" he stopped to clench his jaws harder, "—become the architect of my life. I won't let you." Then he looked to him, red stabbing through the dark, bleeding its bosom with no remorse.

"Did you _really_ take Torune's life?" Itachi asked, and his lips curved a little so wickedly. "You never told me why you were seen in the woods—caught red-handed in the act. You child—you sweet, sweet child. You try so hard to hide things from me. Tell me, why would you take that fool's life?"

Anger burnt in Sasuke's body, gaudily advertised by the nature of his eyes: Nature of an Uchiha; red was passion, anger, love, such a sweet love that knew not the bounds of reason, knew not the shackles of limit, knew not the fetters of compromise; free was its nature and freer were its passions—limitless, boundless, fearless.

"What's it to you?" he asked, knowing full well that Itachi's demeanour was training itself into something he would not enjoy, but so rebellious was he that he did not care. He would have to speak what was in his heart: fear was but a burden he had grown accustomed to; it was second-nature to him now.

Itachi took one slow step to become a darker, looming figure before him, and his eyes changed to battle the red this time, his seemingly off-world attire, luxuriant hair mixing and diluting into the dark with such perfection that the only remnants of a man on his whole form . . . were the nature of his eyes; a sudden tremor gripped Sasuke's legs, but he held his ground. He would not let him win this time.

"It is everything to me," Itachi spoke, and his voice did not betray any contempt, but his eyes . . . so sharp, hot, and dangerous like a consuming fire. "You will do well to remember my words. I warned you last time that I will not be kind if you disobeyed me again. You took the life of that man, plunging yourself deep into another mess I will have to clean this time, as well. I want this to end . . . _now_." His last word was a barely coherent hiss, and red flared brighter in his eyes to punctuate his point.

Sasuke slightly flinched, and his hackles rose at the sight of fury his brother exuded, but he had more anger to spare. "Why don't you prove it?" he spat with a clenched hand, a vein trembling visibly in his neck, defiant like him.

"Is that how you want to play this? This is _not_ a game. Not your playtime. End this self-indulgence, or—"

"Or what?" Sasuke challenged him and betrayed an ugly derision in his voice, his face, a visage of such fury.

"Or I will make you end this," Itachi warned, and there was no hostility in his plain tone, but when he bent his face forward into the light, like he wanted Sasuke to see his changed countenance, his face and eyes were cold as death.

Seeing that uncaring and furious mien, Sasuke's indignation rose. He would rather urinate on his parents' graves than let him have his way again. "I'd rather choose the company of Root dogs poking inside my head than let you do as you please," he said in a voice pregnant with a mischievous melody of rebelliousness.

"Enough," he said and his deep, threatening voice commanded authority. The smooth shadow of wings expanded behind his back, wider and wider, till he was a crow with a human face. His white cheek in the light was without a blush or pink hue. He was just a deathly white face shrouded in a cloak of darkness, with sinister black wings behind him.

He stepped closer, and Sasuke was in half a mind to bolt out of the room, fly away from him, his wings, his escalating beak, but Sasuke's pride disallowed him to cringe before Itachi now in shameful servility; so he watched, with near fascination, this new face of his beloved brother: light behind him dimmed with envy, and the sky glared in anger at his lovely and ugly perfection that was displayed before Sasuke in all its wicked glory—naked, shameless, rapturous.

"You end this now, you child. Do not test me." Itachi's voice fell over his face in soft waves and mocked him in the most profound manner.

"I know what you did—back when you had started your captaincy in Anbu," Sasuke whispered, tone struggling in the deathly shackles of fear and shame, "you slaughtered a whole village to protect this one—men, women, and children. You're cruel, remorseless, and unkind. You care for no one but yourself.

"You don't know how I feel because you have no heart. You make me _sick_ , and I can't stand the sight of you, knowing that you value only what you think is right, only what you think is just, only what you've filled your head with. You're nothing more than an animal at the end of their leash. That's all you are—that's all what you ever will be." Sasuke's eyes were fires in the dark, but his insolent words had sent a red arc flying across Itachi's eyes; and such was his anger that he saw nothing but red haze now.

Itachi's face slinked back into the dark once more as if he wanted to hide his features from Sasuke, and red ripened to shurikens in his eyes: they had betrayed him before a breath came from his lips. The sharp-ends of his fingers dug into his wrist inside the right-sleeve, enough to bruise, to assuage his burning anger. A small spurt of blood came out of his right eye's tear-duct that was hidden in the blackness, expressing such anger that his Sharingan could not.

At that moment, before Itachi could succumb to anger and inflict punishment upon his younger sibling, the door opened and Yuu stepped in with Kai in his wake. His gaze left Sasuke's strained face and settled on the timid medic. "Get him out of my sight before anger gets the better of me," he spoke without looking at Sasuke, voice firm, unwavering.

Yuu bowed meekly, approached Sasuke, and took him out of the room. Sasuke's weak state was enough that he did not protest. He walked away, leaving Itachi and Kai to stand in silence. Outside, wind was a noisy child scampering across the garden.

"Itachi-Sama, a letter came from Hokage-Sama. She requests your presence in her office," he informed and pulled out an official scroll from his pocket.

When Itachi did not speak, he stooped down and placed it on the table by the unlit lamp. Then he bowed and left the room quietly. It was . . . just silence now, disturbed by the unending wild nature of autumn wind. He looked down at the scroll, reached up, and smoothly wiped away the red tear from his cheek. The moth had flow away, and he had not even noticed it. It had fed on his chakra, ripened its belly, and now, it was as deadly as ever . . .

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When he opened the door to Tsunade's office, he was a different man: hair neatly combed back, expressions subtle, and body clothed in Anbu uniform's superficial glory. Her office was a room that wore darkness habitually. She was such an odd one. When he closed the door, she got distracted by the click and looked up from the scroll. Her lips did not smile this time, and there was darkness behind her eyes that foretold her unease.

"Why have you called me here at this time of the hour?" Itachi asked, looking a little weary. These back and forth meetings and quarrels with Sasuke had sapped him of energy.

"This came from the Daimyō's councilman," she said softly in a worried voice and placed the scroll on the table for him to take it. "I considered your vote. Shikaku and I voted in Sasuke's favour. Hiashi did not. He remained neutral—and useless. Danzō, however, went behind my back and contacted this—this wicked man. I cannot override this. It's too soon . . . "

Itachi picked it up and read the contents. "Your private-intelligence is useless," he said indifferently and face suggested mild scorn. "Why show me this now when you have drowned my brother already? Do not think that you can force my hand. You will not get the scroll, not till you fix this mess . . . Hokage-Sama." His face was black, eyes red again—his gaze's threats were predictable but no less fearsome.

Tsunade knew she would not be able to parry the cruel swords of his evil gaze and his slippery tongue. She had to quell his rising wrath . . . "Are you blackmailing me? Without that scroll, all is lost. If you give it to me, I can apprehend Danzō. I can end this," she said, but her tone lacked authority: it was laced with desperation as she endeavoured to placate him. He was not moved.

"Of course not," Itachi breathed out almost sweetly, "I lack the authority to force any decision upon you. I just killed a girl on your orders. Imagine the mess if her thugs knew of your hastiness. They play well with Mist and Cloud. What a glorious mess it would create . . . " And his eyes were smiling, Sharingan burning so exquisitely on his face like a gaudy show of seduction. He put the scroll back on the table and spoke no more.

Gooseflesh erupted across her tingling skin. His words had made her mind reel madly. What was he suggesting? A war . . . surely a radical like him did not value Sasuke _this_ much? His words had bitten off her tongue, and she had no words to spare. He made to leave, but turned around to add: "it was Sakura, was it not?"

Her student's name made her momentarily recover. She gritted her teeth, angry at his boldness, and spoke, "of course not."

Itachi merely smiled, and his eyes darkened in the slightest. Then he left her office almost soundlessly. Outside, winds had gone to sleep, lying in the embrace of a momentary lull.

His energy was gone when he reached home. He did not know what to do. He wanted to visit the graveyard, but it was raining outside now. They could wait. He opened the door to the room that held Sasuke captive. A fire burnt with a soft glow in the fireplace—it was warm.

Sasuke was lying prone beneath the kakebuton. He sat down on the futon and still Sasuke did not stir. He was fast asleep, his anger gone. Yuu had not neglected his duties: the sleeping draught was strong enough not to rouse him. Itachi laced his fingers through the sweaty hair lying on Sasuke's neck and stroked his head very slowly as though he was putting a child to sleep. He had no stories to tell this time. His tongue was silent, his heart weary. Sasuke's anger had given him no chance for even a little display of affection. What had he done? His child had grown so disobedient, so stubborn . . . so insolent; and he did not know what to do.

Itachi moved the hair to the side and pulled the high-collar back to gaze upon the bruise left by the collar. Sasuke was so stubborn that he had disallowed Yuu to even heal it. The prison guards had not bothered to take up the excess slack. Had Sasuke been left there longer . . . Itachi did not have it in him to imagine such a horror anymore.

"You child . . . " Itachi whispered, not ceasing his loving caresses.

Light silently flashed in the sky, but wind laughed with jovial abandon, elated at its quiet call. Tsunade's office lit up with a flash, her hand jerked in surprise, and sake slopped over the edge of her glass. Thunder's roar chided the wind. It was just the tinkle of sweet rain now.

She pressed her hand over her bosom and took a little sip to lighten her stress. Her thoughts were still in pursuit of Itachi's words when the door opened; Danzō came from the darkness and stopped before the door, his deep eyes indiscernible in the shadows. Her anger mounted and knew no bounds. She slammed down the cup on the table and it wobbled. She did not care how the red spilt over her scrolls.

"Get out of here, you scheming snake," Tsunade shouted and red rose in her cheeks in anger. "How dare you do this? Go behind my back to shame me like this? You—I know you. What do you want with that boy? How could you come up with this scheme to—" she stopped as her voice trailed off into silence. Out of the darkness, from behind his evil shadow, emerged Sakura—her expression meek, her gait unsure.

"Your student is the one who testified against that treacherous Uchiha," Danzō said, and his voice was like venom that burnt on her skin.

"Sakura . . . you . . . " Tsunade's wits left her. She could not believe her eyes. Itachi would kill her if he knew . . . what had she done?

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	60. Children Don't Do Naughty Things

**Chapter Sixty** : Children Don't Do Naughty Things

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Curiosity was such a terrible creature—it trod where it knew not to go, but when the hearts and limbs grew under the changing skies of seasons, it prodded the spirit on to look for treasures and find new things, innocent things, to explore and touch. He, too, had been such an explorer in his childhood. He, too, had trodden far down the road of . . . curiosity.

He had met a girl, a babe, in his childhood years that were fraught with such curiosities. Her downy cheeks were covered with a rich bloom, always, and one day, beneath the moving shadows of dry trees, she had asked of him to explore her special place.

It was such a strange request, but he was a sober and questing child to not turn her down; so he took her to a quiet garden behind the Elder's house, her plump hand in his, where slips of black and red fish moved beneath the clear water, and shadows of trees were thick and intruding. There she sat upon the stone-slab by his side, eyes shining in the gleams of autumn sun, with lips that seemed pouting for a little kiss.

Her arms stretched out to behold him in a sacred embrace. He had denied her a kiss upon the mouth: her rosy lips plucked at the flesh upon his nape instead. Buried his face in her lush hair he had to sniff the intoxicating whiff of a noxious oil of pleasures—innocent pleasures of young flesh.

His hand, unsure of its path, had gone beneath layers of her red yukata to explore her plump thighs that had a tinge of pink and a bloom of budding youth. Shadows moved, here and there, and deepened between her legs to hide her anatomy. She had swooned in girl-ish rapture, lashes flickering like moths' wings upon the cheeks that tinted a darker shade, and titled her head back to rest it upon his shoulder.

His fingers connected with smooth and swollen fleshes that oozed mucus upon touch. He glided them down to the slippery groove, and she breathed heavily into his ear, whimpering with helpless, soundless pleas—her breaths, hot and needy. His flesh, still slumbering between his own thighs, became lively at her sounds as though they were guiding it to ripen in soft strokes, and he craved more.

His finger wormed and explored the flesh within—moist, tight, and hot it was—and he felt his pores expel sweat, veins flicker with hot undulations of his heart's unsure nature, his thoughts exploring new things—with him inside this clammy tightness to experience the true bliss of pleasures.

Her body shivered, experienced waves of something unknown to her budding form, and went through a timid metamorphosis that would need to be repeated for the contentment of her baser desires; and in an earnest response to the ministrations of an innocent hand, a warm wetness seeped into his palm, and a sudden jolt of heat went to the core of his pleasures. His body, then, cooled off in a sudden effort to move away from that heated state of arousal: his flesh had gone soft between his legs, too.

She opened her eyes, as though waking from a trance, gaze heavy with the intoxication of her first release. Her eyes, and their endless depths after the bliss, fascinated him so; there was a release of a deep shade of intoxication in her eyes that had risen from the maw with soft thrums of her heart and flesh and bones—a sinister rhythm in that young apparel that rattled his bones with a lovely vibration. Eyes told a person's tale, after all.

He could have asked of her to lie down (in silence) upon the yellowed grass, open her wet thighs wide to allow him to intrude upon that sweet place over and over again to his heart's content; but his passion was thawed by the cool evening air. Her cheeks were still ruddy like roses, but her body was cast in the shadows of the roof. It was getting dark.

So he left that garden, fingers still coated with her arousal, heart and loins impatient—with her hand in his as they walked through a cluster of sighing autumn trees. When they stopped by her house, which was under the cool night's cover, she stood upon her toes to whisper: "I enjoyed it. Can we do it again, Itachi?"

Then she backed away, cheek glowing crimson in the lantern's bright light, face eager and sweet. He peered deep into her eyes, but that shade had faded and so had his curiosity. He did not say anything to wound her heart and walked into the embracing arms of a silent dark that sat between him and his home.

He wanted to speak to his father of such things, things that governed a body's more sinister pleasures, but he was a boy of eleven still; his father's eyes were stern enough to halt his steps—too young and child-like to be embroiled into the tempest of flesh's lure. And Sasuke was still so young, a babe of three. What would he say to him? He just played in his lap in the dimming lights of the sun, cradling lilies in his tender arms crossed over his belly, eyes brightening with happiness.

When one floated out of that heap, mounted upon autumn's wings, Sasuke's face would crumple into a frown, lips becoming redder in anger. Then he, after abandoning the rest, made a feeble effort towards the chase of it, but he was too young to pursue its path. After a little run through the decaying grass, his legs would grow tired, and he would look back at Itachi's face through a sheen in his eyes . . . the lilies he abandoned had floated away—all of them.

Such quests always left the babe on the verge of tears, and he was an impatient one. And his plump arms would stretch to meet the embrace of the older one. He always insisted that Itachi should pluck new ones out. "Nii-San, new one," he would speak in a small, pleading tone, eyes wet with new tears.

Then the task of plucking lilies began anew—with a warm smile coming to the younger one's face that his brother was doing what he had asked of him in the light of full moon. There they would tread amongst lilies and moths and shadows to locate the ones Sasuke so desired.

He adored the ones with the silkiest petals. Lilies swayed like weeds in the wind, whispered in sweet voices, heralded the coming of a colder autumn that would be bereft of mercy and love.

Sasuke loved to put one in Mikoto's hair, and her eyes always smiled in response to her little one's gestures of love. Itachi found it odd; he had plucked so many, but Sasuke would give them all to Mikoto but one: he saved that one for Itachi—the brightest, silkiest one.

But Sasuke, and his beautiful innocence, was what Itachi loved from the depths of his heart—an eidolon of innocence and love that dwelt beside his spirit; and tender was its touch and presence in his mortal coil. It was an endless source of love and elation for its spirit, a food for his contentment.

The babe's smile, blushing upon his face with such purity, elated his heart that raced to a crescendo of delight. It would become a chamber of _such_ sweet and blissful sounds in those moments. Yes, Sasuke was too small for such talks. He would never understand his baser curiosities; so in his heart he buried the temptation, and in his flesh he kept his lust. His tongue kept its promise to his flesh that it would never betray him before anyone. Such secrets were his to keep and guard.

As weeks floated by in a haze of autumn's decay and gloom, he had foregone the talks with his father and kept to himself. His early days in Anbu were thrilling, strange even. Sex was easy amongst the members, easier than the act of murder. Anbu-Shinobi rented rooms wherever they desired to rut—sexually excitable men and ripe women, promiscuous men with willing men, heady women with giddy girls, young buds of spring with older partners, too, mingled without a care.

Itachi found such liberties to be . . . a matter of stranger things, but being so young, the prospect of bodily pleasures was an elusive idea. Women whispered seductive things into his ears, but no one was brave enough to take an Uchiha heir to her bed. He could court one in his own clan, a silly and willing girl, but he did not desire the ire of Elders lest he incurred a wave of shame for his father and censure for his unbecoming decision to soil a naïve young girl.

So, he, sometimes, snuck a hand beneath his trousers—past the soft puff of hairs growing on his loins—when shadows of the room draped his shaking body, enveloped in sweat to give his flesh a distinct sheen borne of arousal, curved a hand around the heated flesh hardened by the flow of blood, and moved it up and down the length to relieve this . . . this annoyance that grew inside his body with each passing day—a tumorous growth that required a medicine for its unchecked spread.

Autumn was a season of decay, but his body had bloomed and ripened to a state of heated deliriousness—spring had occurred in autumn's decay. He desired to confide in his friend, Shisui, but the prospect of shame locked the words in his mouth. He could never quite give voice to his worries when he looked upon him standing in the light spilling from the interstices between the frail branches. He was a boy of sixteen and had reached the estate of a man by his clan's law. Itachi felt as though he was so far behind, meandering in his wake to find his own path . . .

Yellow and red covered the ground, dead flowers strewn about in a sea of mist. That was when he had gone on a mission to spill blood in a small village. He was tasked to kill a family of three brothers. His mission leader, Miura, was a hard man of thirty, a Jōnin who had lived through many missions. His bearing was sure, his sword well-used in battle. Sometimes, he caught a whiff of a rusty smell from the steel when he cleaned it with oil by the crackling fire deep in the forest.

Sounds of dark and forest did not worry his heart; he was older for such small matters. "Does the dark make you afraid?" Miura asked him one night, his face hidden in shadows, the visible eye housing a changing gleam he had never seen there before—desire . . . lust?

Itachi considered him for a moment, unable to read his strange glance. "No," he spoke as his cheeks glowed a soft red in the fire's light, his gaze beheld Miura's countenance: there was something almost fiendish about it.

"You make soft noises in your bed—sometimes," Miura spoke with a little pause, his bearing wanton now, and there was so much of that emotion in his eye that it threatened to spill over upon his face. A rude smile dangled from the corners of his sake-coated lips—he was a little intoxicated.

"I do not see how that concerns your curiosity," he said and watched Miura's brow frown that was half-concealed by the messy brown hair that hung over it; his smile was vanishing. Then he left the place by the fire and slept in the natural cave in the tree's bark. He lay upon his back, turf pillowing his head, thinking. His eyes wandered for a brief moment to gaze upon his superior who still sat outside under the clear sky and in the company of blinking fireflies . . . he repulsed him.

Days went by and autumn winds blew cold and harsh. He sent a letter to Shisui, requesting of him to follow his trail and assist him in this endeavour. Their journey was cursed by whippings from a tumultuous hand of storm. Trees whipped and got torn up in the forest, and they were left with nary a choice. He got separated from his small team of four men, and that was when—in the calm refuge of the cave with his superior—he felt his hand, with a bold motion, brush against his genitals.

Such an act brought out an immediate reaction from his body: he shuddered (followed by a backwards stumble to press his back against the cave's rough wall), confused and shamed. His cheeks grew hot and red, and he did not know how to respond to this invitation for copulation. Miura had cornered him in the cave, his body firmly pressed against his, and outside, a storm raged with ferocity, and inside, his blood boiled just the same.

Miura's hand was fastened to his loins now, kneading the flesh through the thick material of his trousers to rouse it against his will, and Itachi's arm was in his tight grasp, fingers digging into the white flesh. Itachi clenched his teeth, unable to voice the revulsion he felt.

From this close, he could see sweat dotting the green veins on Miura's neck that flickered and throbbed in tandem with the rising speed of his heartbeats, reaching up to his nape to visibly shiver there in a state of arousal. His breaths were hideous and hollow and smelt rank upon his skin.

"Allow me," he rasped against his ear, his breath soaked in strong sake, "you will enjoy it. Tell me, where do you want to be touched? I will—"

"Let me go," he hissed and shoved him back. He was a tall boy for his age and stood over five feet three inches. His limbs, though pliant, were strong. Miura staggered several steps back from the force of the action and made to rush at him again, almost in reflex, his face less lusty and more enraged now, but his nerves stopped their natural workings to convey the signals of motion to his limbs at the sight of Itachi's Sharingan that blazed with a daemonic warning on his face.

Lightning illuminated his superior's face, and it was drenched in sweat; upon his countenance was an expression of utmost rage mingled with his present state of shame that he had been rejected so brutally. Cold air poured into the cave from outside and cooled Itachi's anger. He did not say anything more and saw Miura skitter his hand through his hair in a nervous manner and leave through the mouth of the cave to walk into the angry, questing hands of wind.

Itachi became more wary after that incident: the man was not to be trusted. Miura was a liability now, and Itachi felt as though he had put that night behind him, but it was not so. At last that fateful night came, and he descended like a newborn devil upon the three occupants dozing off after a celebratory night with alcohol and women.

Trees circled their abode and closed in—sentinels in the dark. Mist clambered upon their forms as Itachi opened the door to walk to their supine bodies. Their apparels were expensive and new, grey and white kimonos with marks of a skilled cloth-maker's designs, their faces calm and serene, hair puffy and soft on one side and flat and matted on the other. His footfalls came into the room in silence, and he unsheathed his sword with care, too.

One candle cast a sharp light on the bulbous nose of the one snoring rather loudly. Itachi made three swishing motions of his arm and cut the necks of unwary men. Their eyes opened, expressions caving in with such pain, but they had no air in their throats to scream. Their limbs convulsed, light faded from their eyes (unable to see the mess their severed jugular veins had made upon their garments and floor), and they died in a quiet and still state right before his eyes. It was over. The mission was done.

Itachi had found their abode first by using the only crow he could make: he had sent one to bring Shisui to him. He was not skilled enough to make more than two for now. When he reached the meeting place, Miura was furious at his insubordination. He paid him no mind as he knew that a reward awaited him back at the Anbu corps. His father would be proud, too.

Cold nights passed in wait, and Itachi's impatience grew as he waited for his friend to find him. He did not enjoy the lecherous countenance and the bold cast of Miura's gaze. There was a tinge of anger in the yellow shade of his eyes, and his cheeks wore a mild blush to exhibit his irritation.

A storm threatened to sift through the weak barrier of clouds one night when he was offered a little drink by his fellow man (the last one had been sent back to the corps for further instructions), Rafu. He was an unassuming fellow of sixteen—foolhardy and impressionable, cheeks a vast map of pink freckles that gave an impression to the onlooker that his face was about to boil-over. He always appeared baffled around them.

The drink was a mild sake, a little tangy on Itachi's tongue. It calmed his nerves and, to his shock, slowed down his nerves' signals. His body started shivering mere seconds after he partook a sip. The leather bottle dropped from his loosening grip and fell down: he did not even hear the sound as it met the old floor.

Strong hands gripped him by the shoulders, and he was made to stand before Miura again. Miura's face was a hazy bundle of lines in his vision. Sweat splashed into Itachi's eyes from his brow, and his stomach burnt with the churning liquid he had just sipped. Bumps popped everywhere on his skin, and it shivered, sweaty and clammy—it was so discomforting. His head was just floating in the clouds, his Sharingan sleeping despite his pleas for it to claw its way up, like a beast rising from a maw, to his aid.

"You have such pretty lips, Uchiha—almost like a woman's," Miura whispered and traced Itachi's lips with a rough thumb, his breath hot, rancid on his Itachi's skin. His words wobbled and blared in his ears; he could barely understand his locution.

Rafu grasped his wrists, twisted his arms from the back, and then he was bent forward rather unceremoniously before Miura's loins. A firm hand was placed at the back of Itachi's head to keep him from raising it in protest. Whose hand? He could not say. Sweat dripped from his nose, shivering lips, and quivering skin that was in the grip of such fear and shame now. The floor was a murky mast by his feet, falling away into the dark ocean beneath in his mind's eye that could not fathom distance any longer.

Itachi heard a loud, clattering sound of metal, and he knew Miura had unsheathed his arousal to humiliate him. "Don't—please—" he spoke, and his words tumbled, nearly incoherent in the sounds of their rasping breaths. Did they really intend to take him by force—here, in such a place? He did not understand . . . their vulgarity, their boldness.

"Such a sweet little Uchiha," Miura began, and the unnatural rise in his voice was painful in Itachi's ears, "your father was so quick to demand my resignation over a small matter. I never deserved it. I lost _everything_ that day, thrown down into this fucking Anbu-gutter post to herd inept boys, day in day out. I just wanted to humiliate his son. Give him the shame I've lived through.

"I didn't intend to be sweet on you, but I never expected you to be so . . . lovely. Such a lively one. Stop resisting, and I'll make sure you enjoy it, too." He grabbed Itachi by the jaw, and his forefinger traversed the soft seam and pushed in to part the lips that curtained his clamping teeth.

"I'll bet your throat is something special—hotter and smoother than a woman's," he spoke, voice husky like a drunkard's as his finger probed the gums and rubbed across his front teeth and traversed further in to scrape against the moist tongue.

Then Itachi simply fell sideways, his cheek met the cold wood, and something warm and metallic splashed across his cheek. It trailed an itchy path to drip down upon the dust-caked planks. Creaky sounds filled the room. Then it was quiet again, and a big gloom pervaded the room, its windows bearing streaks of rich life that crawled across the glass to create thin red bars.

"Itachi—Itachi—" a voice spoke in a hushed manner, and it was akin to a whisper for his senses. The face appeared white in the dust suspended in the air, his vision—his friend had found him, and Itachi smiled a beautiful smile of relief and happiness.

When the effects of that accursed drug wore off, he felt whole again. His senses, along with the proper functions of his limbs, came back. It was a new morn and its light shone majestically upon the cheek of his dear friend, Shisui. He had felled both of them in cold blood: their corpses lay beneath an old cloth, dappled red with signs of violence. He could not say that he was happy with their demise. Was his father unjust to another man? The thought probed his mind more than he had thought possible.

When they drew near the border of Konoha, Itachi asked of him to escort him to the house of Tayūs. It was so sudden that Shisui halted his steps and turned his back to the moon to face him. His body was so dark, a shade, in Itachi's sight.

"But . . . you're so young," Shisui spoke with a note of astonishment in his voice. His face must have suggested the same, but Itachi could not see, and not intent he was to draw out another vision to peer at his countenance. The dark forest spoke all around them in whispers and pleading tones, but his ears were closed off to their calls.

"I told you in my letter. It's fine. You didn't say anything then. Why are you stopping me now?" Itachi asked, his voice soft and young—it had not been moulded by years to grow deep and rich yet.

"I'm not stopping you. It's just that—" Shisui stopped and ran his hand down the side of his right cheek, "—you're still so young for such a thing. I'm sure it isn't something you can't control. Wait for a year, or two, at least. This shouldn't—"

"I've decided," Itachi cut across him, his voice a little more firm than before, "it's just a distraction, and I want it gone. Besides, my body has matured, and I don't want to create a mess in the clan with another girl. It's better this way."

Shisui was silent. He stood amongst the glimpsing dots of small fireflies floating around him upon dark's garment. Mist's fingers sifted through flora, like ghostly assassins, and spread across the ground to hide autumn's decaying façade. Smell of rot became intense with the arrival of a whistling wind, and Itachi's crunching steps announced to Shisui that he was going there with or without him.

Night was still young and fresh when they arrived at the house of Tayūs. It was an odd sort of place, richly decorated with the most expensive things—everything was new here and smelt beautiful. Women, bred from childhood, walked these halls to pleasure men of stature and wealth. Their edifice was one to behold: so rich, elusive, and lovely. Long hair rested upon their buttocks, light makeup enveloped the faces painted with care, and flowing garments covered their bodies. Itachi was . . . enamoured to say the least, and such was his curiosity that he requested Shisui to take him to the woman he had once spoken of.

Though fearful of what may come to pass from such a decision, he did not deny Itachi's request; so he took the boy to the woman who sat in a well-furnished room amongst the sparse light of a lantern and roiling wreaths of incense. A long pipe was clamped between her sweet lips, and a smile rose tantalizingly to her red mouth.

"Shisui-Kun," she spoke and licked the black stem—a suggestive gesture—as her gaze fell upon Itachi's awed expression. Her brows rose, and she smiled at the look that had settled itself firmly upon his countenance in its stead now—a cool indifference to hide his true nature; she found that innocent habit almost endearing. "You have brought a little lamb into the den of the beast." They settled opposite her across a small table decorated with expensive, feminine things: a comb, pins, and a lovely mirror.

She smiled, perfect white teeth showing, and tapped the pipe into a small dish by her knees to deposit the charred contents there. She put a pinch of something at the base of the pipe's bowl and mashed it around there. Itachi could only hear crunch-crunch sounds emanate from the pipe. Then she heated it above the kindled flame of the candle, inhaled deeply, and held that inhalation as long as she could.

"Hanakoto-San, if you could spare a little time for him, I would be grateful," Shisui spoke, and Itachi noticed that his tone was deep, almost seductive.

Hanakoto exhaled in a brief, sigh-like sound, and smoke rose before her pretty face, hiding it from Itachi's sight. She issued forth a chiming laughter, and her seductive nature came to the fore. "He is but a young boy," she paused, drew deep, and exhaled again, "and you ask of me to play with him? A little morbid, no, Shisui-Kun?"

"That's what he wants, and I've got no . . . issues with his mindset. He's reached sexual maturity," he reasoned, appearing a bit flustered under the weight of her gaze.

Hanakoto did not look to Shisui but to Itachi this time, and her eyes appraised his face and body with a clear mind and penetrating sight. "Such a beautiful boy," she spoke, and her voice had the seduction of midnight specters—it was lovely, and the ripening boy in him was so enchanted by its melody. "So innocent for these chambers. How many seasons have you seen?"

"I turned twelve this summer," Itachi spoke and kept his voice firm in an effort to make it deep and commanding; his dark eyes filled with a sudden _something_ for the first time in his short life—lust.

Shisui hung his head in shame. This was not right, but Itachi could not be persuaded otherwise. If Hanakoto turned him down, then he would reason with him to quell his passions some other way; but his thoughts had just begun to scale his mind and locate reason when she interposed: "leave my chambers. He shall stay here, with me, for the night."

Surprise was writ large upon Shisui's face, but he forced a smile, muttered something about ' _I'll be outside_ ,' and then left the room with a resigned disposition, closing the sliding door behind him.

Her gaze did not see any worry upon Itachi's face, which had previously slipped into its cool mien. She put the pipe upon the table and tapped her hand on the futon behind her. "Come here and sit with me," she spoke and watched him disentangle the fingers of his right hand from the left one in a smooth, detached manner.

Hanakoto shifted back a little to settle herself on the futon and adjusted her garments with thoughtful movements of her pliant limbs. He edged around the table and sat down, a little cautiously, beside her, his gaze settling itself methodically upon the lantern.

She placed her hand to his cheek, and then proceeded to glide her fingers along his contours with admiration. "I am a woman of twenty-seven," she began and inched closer to take a whiff of his skin—he had no male musk to exude, "I have never had someone so young in my bed. Would it ripen enough to fit me?" She buried her face into his neck, her nose into his lush hair, her lips upon his nape, her hand moving down to knead his genitals.

The reaction from his body was immediate, but he sought control in its stead. So, to distract himself, his gaze wandered the room that was filled with antiques, masterworks hung in alcoves. There were shadows everywhere, but his Sharingan had risen and lust had unveiled, to its full, a beast—a red one. Then everything was red in the room, and he had not stopped her from removing the clothes from his torso. His sweaty back lay shivering upon the silkiest kakebuton he had ever felt upon his skin.

She had located the core of pleasures in his body and had put her mouth upon his flesh. It bloomed to a hard state, eager to respond, and he shivered from the tips of his toes to the vibrating, pulsing thing inside her throat. He could sense his own flesh so clearly, mapped by the sweeping motions of her tongue and grazing of her teeth.

Itachi could not hear his own sounds that issued forth from his lips in quick successions: his hearing was hampered by a thunderous heart and laboured breaths. Her mouth generated pulses of pleasures, the kind he had never known before; just an innocent flick of her tongue and a practiced movement of her hand along his length made him spasm.

Fluids sprang from the taut crown, and he erupted into her mouth. Hanakoto pulled back with tendrils of his release upon her lips. She wiped at her lips and released a girl-ish laugh. Then Itachi felt a heaviness upon his hips, and he strained his head and watched her remove her kimono to reveal her pretty form to his eyes as she sat down upon his thighs.

Her breasts, with pebbled nipples, sat high like plump, ripened fruit, and the decadent curve of her waist extended to the flare of her hips; and right between her wide open thighs were coarse black hair to hide her genitals. Along her beautiful shoulders and white forearms ran a red-hot glow of fire—like sake.

Hanakoto reached over and kissed his shivering throat that was covered in sweat now, and he immediately went erect in her palm. "My, you are such a lively boy," she whispered and moved her hand up and down the slick length of him. She had such a delicious odour that he so loved now—it fanned his lust into such a sinister state that when she bore down upon him, red spilt in the room that was nothing more than black and white etchings of a bleak painting before. Then autumn moths bloomed from the buds that grew out of the red fabric, their wings vibrating there, and then everything began to pulse in his consciousness in the same rhythm—it was purple, red, and something more sinister he could not name.

Itachi's arousal was silky, thick, hot inside her—her channel was tight, torrid, and a place of such dark pleasures. The vibrations from their conjoining made his veins throb with visible pulsations. Her supple organ had swallowed up his cock good. Then he raised a soft cry of impatience, his hips heaved, his pelvis rose and fell, and he spurted inside of her; and again she squeezed, and again he hardened to experience the sweet vibrations of mating—all over again.

Itachi did not know how long it went on, his black hair streaked silver with copious amounts of sweat; the lantern's light dimmed in the room, and outside, footfalls passed softly along the corridor. Incense's scent had diminished and hers had risen to conquer it with hopeless finesse.

At last she bent forward, ground into him roughly, and spilt upon his white torso. Her hands, eager in the search of his passions, grabbed hold of his muscle-coils and the skin there flushed white. A sudden piercing colour invaded her eyes, and her voice broke in the wake of her release. Then she, wordlessly, released him and slowly the excited veins crept back . . . a memory had ended like a part of him in this place—a quiet past running down the winding road of wanton pursuits.

Standing decadent against the animated lights of greedy gazes, set in the pretty spill of white lights, wearing clean shadows of a new wood that lay cross-crossed on the white skin, her flesh was a temple—a sepulture of _all_ desires. The red kimono was open from the front, and full breasts were bared before the prying eyes, skin flushed with sweat. A thatch of black hair covered the genitals, their smells diminished under the sharp odour of perfumes—an airy garb, lighter than silk, sweeter than sake.

Hot fumes rose from the bath and youth went skittering left and right, and the gazes, mad in chase of its taste, skittered, too. Just a little bite, a soft nip of the nectar brewed by nature that would soon grow stale, wear upon itself the fine lines of Time . . . and they would be content.

They so wanted to writhe and moan, envelop the skin of youth: pretty young girls, pretty young boys; beautiful women, beautiful men; ethereal children, as young as eleven, with voices lilting, carrying a current of filthy innocence, sullied by old hands . . . they had it all—such a tomb of lust, such a grave of desire . . . red, so much red. A single tooth lodged in the plump lower lip, and the flesh popped there, but such common eyes could not see the red coming out—red sake on redder lips.

She reached a hand through the bars, red in the dour fingers fluttering there in the heat. Then she sat down, parted the lush thighs wide—as though she was meant to in the sweet daze of incense and sake—and stretched the right leg that now lay taut from the hips, an inviting smile gracing her lips as delicately as the weightless caresses of fumes. Such a filthy place . . .

The silk kimono slipped off her blushing skin as she tilted her head back, intoxicated. Black pot's fumes rose thick, soft wisps rising from the mouth to envelop the rosy red abloom everywhere, a child's toy stippled red by ugly fingers. Children laughed an older laugh, and one old man sat cringed before a lovely young man, caressing his white foot, which he held in his coarse hand with such delicate care. A whole world unwound behind the wooden-frame: street-legs sprawling, bird-necks stretching; stream-veins swelling in the flushing soft skin of earth, pretty dips intensifying below the breathing ribcage of lovely dead bones; twisting backs, turning beds of white peonies, a ruined vestal and a mottle of stains and flowing crevices—winding and unwinding little toys in vulgar hands.

The features cast shadows in the deep corners of the room. It was nothing he had not seen before. One male youth made an enticing gesture towards him from the corner of the large house. He was finally beckoned inside. The cover of his strenuous shadow left the frame, and it shivered and sighed in its wake. Feet moved behind him, though with the stiffness an old man might possess. One old man nearly grabbed his leg, slurring. He thought him to be a new prostitute refined in the art of mind and manners. He was mad drunk.

He did not stop, feet carrying him through the smoke floating in the air as ghosts, hiding the flesh behind such a precarious veil. At last, darkness swallowed the corridor into its fat belly, and a few stray shafts from beyond the partition-screen slanted in, hitting his eyes with such force that red throbbed there in a pained protest. Chakra exploded in rooms, nooks, and corners: children sullied, maidens ruined, and men shamed. This house breathed out mourning songs, and still unwound again . . . and again and again, but he chose not to heed it and made his way behind the screen.

He was glad to see the liquid trickle of light that poured forth from a lantern hanging from a smooth beam above her head as he put the Sharingan to sleep. She had put on such a show to appear as a single entity in his gaze—all darkness and a single, struggling shower of light. When she became aware of his presence, she wore a curl of dissolute mockery on her fair face. She still looked the same: painted face and chiseled lips coloured with a touch of berries, black hair scraped back with such care and decorated with expensive ornamental pins, and a fan in hand. She had not changed much and still looked as remarkably beautiful as the day he first met her—Time had not touched her skin, her youth.

He stopped and sat down without a word of greeting. The other man did the same. She found his attitude . . . endearing as her countenance became soft and sweet as though she was dealing with a child. "I have not seen you in so long, Itachi-Kun," she spoke in a manner as though her tongue was caressing each word.

Serizawa let out a small groan, frowning. He had kept his gaze low. He did not want to raise his eyes and gaze at a few women swaying under the lights, mad somnambulists, black hair swaying against the taut buttocks like loose ink brushes in smoke's hands. Nothing covered their flesh and shame.

Their shadows danced with light feet on Itachi's left cheek, and he turned his eyes away. A sudden mischievousness flickered in her eyes, and she let out a soft laugh, enjoying his cool demeanour. " _My_ , I have never seen you flustered by such a tepid show," she spoke, voice light and seductive. "Are you flustered? If you are, then I miss a sweet blush upon your cheeks."

"Why have you called me here?" Itachi asked, his voice a frosty wind in the heat of the room, returning her refined exuberance with a tight frown.

"So cold," she huffed out in a singing voice and tapped the fan against the lips softly. "Your tongue is sharp enough to slay my heart. I would have so loved for you cast aside that garb, and play here . . . with me." A sinister seduction came into her face, but its intensity was so dimmed in the dark that he did not have the patience in him to gauge its worth.

A small child came running to him, and wordlessly, he sat down by his side and touched the inside of his left thigh in a manner that was unfitting of a boy so young. He looked down at him, anger fading at the sight of his innocence: his brow was frowned, and the soft bend of his pink mouth was so like Sasuke's. It pained him so, heart aching at the sight of him.

He brushed his small hand against his thigh again, and he could bear it no longer. "Get him out of my sight," he said, anger invading his tone with a soft breach.

"Reminds you of Sasuke-Kun, does he not?" Hanakoto said, and her smile widened at the predicable rise of red in his eyes. "He is so beautiful, too. Not much younger than you when you came to me. You could have been a predator, but Shisui chose for you to become a prey—when you lay beneath me, weeping and moaning as I helped you come." Then she laughed again, and this time, her laugher rippled through the room like a sharp, invading sound.

The child scampered away and disappeared behind the women—still swaying in the grip of drugs.

"Leave," Itachi spoke to Serizawa without turning his head, and he obliged without a word. Seeing this as some sort of invitation, Hanakoto picked herself up, garments and all, and walked to him. Then she sat down delicately by his side, her hand reaching up to tangle in his hair.

"Why do you not use that cold tongue to warm me?" she whispered and strained to press her lips against his throat. He was quicker than her, and in one swift motion her eyes could not even see, he had her throat in his grasp, the nails of his thumb and forefinger digging into her jaw.

"I asked of you to complete a task, but you are so foolish and inept," he spoke and turned his face to look upon her: his cold mien faded, and a sinister calm set in that made a chill climb the length of her spine. "I allowed you to sell this _filth_ in return for your loyalties. I do not see you trying so hard."

Hanakoto blinked, and then her lashes fluttered as his nails broke the white skin to create dents there. "I turn a blind-eye to these things . . . on a few conditions, but now you believe yourself to hold all the power. Are you testing me?" he asked, and the beauty of his face was no more than an edifice that hid an evil form.

"No," she let out a small gasp, her gaze trying hard to evade the swords of his eyes.

"You are wise," Itachi whispered in a mocking tone, and from this close, she could smell the musk his body gave forth—she always could. "Just a week. That is all you possess. Do not make me come here again without a cause."

He pulled his hand back, and she breathed in a shuddering breath. "Look what you have done—you have left wounds in my face. I will have to call in a medic to heal these, you rude boy." She smiled a bold smile. Her seductive mouth curved, and she touched the side of his face again. "You are so pliant when you get intoxicated by that noxious concoction—a different, sweeter man," she said, but he did not answer. Instead, he rose to his feet and left the large room in silence.

When Itachi made it outside, his eyes fell upon the boy. He was standing before an old man who had a vulgar glint in his eyes. Itachi called to him and he came running. He followed him as he made his way outside the mansion. Then, as the wind hit him, he went down on one knee and grabbed him gently by the shoulders. In the light of the setting sun, he looked so like Sasuke—his mouth was exactly the same.

"What is your name?" Itachi asked in a soft voice, and the boy eased in his grasp.

"Kosuke," the boy said and wiped at his face in a thoughtless gesture.

"Where is your family? Are they alive?" he asked and saw the boy shake his head. "Are you from Rain?" The boy, Kosuke, nodded this time. He was so small that Itachi's fingers had the fleshy parts of his arms in his grasp.

"Serizawa, take him to the orphanage in our village," Itachi commanded and watched a smile cross the boy's face. "I have some matters to attend. Tell the Elders that the meeting can take place tomorrow. I have no time for it tonight." Then he whispered something and stood up.

"Yes, Itachi-Sama," he replied and held out his hand for the boy. The boy put his hand in his and watched Itachi disappear into the darkness. He had spoken a name in thoughtlessness—Sasuke?

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	61. And Sweet was the Smell of Spring

**Chapter Sixty-One** : And Sweet was the Smell of Spring

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The feeling that shock stirred in her was of anger. Dark was but a foreboding companion amongst them, daubing their faces black and grey with night's dye on its fingers. Her pink hair had lost the hue sun always made gleam with its rays. She could barely see her face clearly; behind Danzō's unendurable, evil aspect, she was but a small wee thing—lost and foolhardy.

This building was exposed to a terrible weather—rain lashed, wind whipped, thunder cracked and waged a war against this small patch of concrete woods. Outside, wails of winds joined together and put forth a harrowing sound that went straight into her heart, and it reacted with an unsteady rhythm.

Concentrating her gaze lower, she watched darkness spill towards her feet like the slow movement of sludge. This was not right—nothing was right. A lantern sat upon her table, and when she shifted a little to the right, in thoughtless motion, yellow light struck the girl's young cheek, and it glowed pink.

"Out," she whispered, and she curled her fingers around the edge of the heavy wooden table, her hands going white.

"This boy needs to—"

"Out!" she shouted this time; her head snapped up, her eyes rounded, and she took a few deep breaths, angered by his presence.

Danzō had gone silent. In the darkness, his features related the evil she always associated with this village's terrible past. He was just a leech now, a terrible leech, growing grotesque and full and big by sucking up all this place had left to give.

To her heart's relief, he did not answer. His stick clicked against the floor once, as though an announcement of his leave, and he turned around and walked into the thick dark that lay in the mouth of the door. He had straightened his bent spine unnaturally in her gaze to appear prideful and honourable. A shadow fell off his shoulders as he disappeared; she did not know where it even went.

Cool breaths invaded her lungs, and her senses found comfort in his absence. She looked about and saw flashes of lightning light up the contours of her office. Sake was so red and enticing in that flask, but she was disciplined enough to forego this temptation for now.

Her gaze passed over her student's body; it was contoured with a shivering anxiety and sparse light. She was nervous, and sweat punctuated that quite clearly. She took one step forward and blocked the path of light with her body. It spilt over the sides and made her appear so big on the wall behind her.

"Why are you doing this?" Tsunade asked at last, her voice low, expression subtle.

Sakura lifted her eyes: light struck them and they sparkled like the verdant valley in spring. Her soft face, framed by the softest pink the season of love had to offer, assumed a worried expression—so young and so foolish to be cast away upon the tides of loyalty.

Blood pumped a pink hue towards Sakura's cheek and its tender shade spread from her smooth nape upwards along her face, mapping her features that were cast in a familiar mould of wild youth. She was . . . so young, so foolish. She bent her head, feeling ashamed that she was being scrutinized by the hard gaze of her mentor.

Sakura gulped, the moist wind cool in her gut. "Sasuke is . . . " she paused, unable to voice what was in her heart, " . . . is a traitor. I saw him kill Torune in cold blood with my own eyes."

The palpitations of Tsunade's heart were louder this time as her eyes, quite tirelessly, searched for red dots in the dark. The room was empty, but his black crow's silent beak always pecked through the walls, merged with the shadows, and assumed sinister, shapeless forms to hear her thoughts, see her speak, and feel the anxieties in her heart—such an evil man, what an evil crow.

"Why did Sasuke kill him?" she asked, and the words barely left the tip of her tongue—they so desired to cling there and not let go.

"I think he's controlling Naruto," she spoke and looked up to meet Tsunade's eyes, her voice a little robust than before. It was as though the mention of his name had poked at an angry animal in her gut and provoked a terrible response.

"You think?" Tsunade hissed and observed Sakura flinch at the intensity of her tone. Tsunade crossed her arms over her breast, her heart angry and wild.

"No, I know for sure!" Sakura said, her voice rising in a loud retort, her fingers clenching to form two hard knots by her side. She looked so angry. The soft pink had drained away to reveal a darker shade of red in her face. Her frayed emotions were laid bare for her eyes to see—again.

"Do you?" Tsunade asked, almost feeling the lash of white light on her skin, which reacted with a blush of anger as a silent answer. "You've started such a mess—you've made such a mess of things. What do you hope to accomplish?"

Sakura had fallen silent, the sounds of her breaths so soft in the voices of storm. A dry branch, now bathed in rainwater, smacked sharply against the window-glass, but so consumed by doubt and anger she was that the rough sound did not intrude her thoughts.

"Itachi knows," Tsunade whispered, her eyes widened so much, and her voice rose so slightly to develop into a sharp hiss as the last of his name's syllable rolled off her tongue. Sakura sharply looked up to see Tsunade standing before her now, with a clear fury on her dull face.

"He knows," she spoke again, and still her voice was like the smallest and sharpest hiss of a frightened snake, "but I don't know why he hasn't killed you yet. I don't know why . . . " And she looked away towards the window, towards the dark face of the storm: it had a distorted countenance of such dark ferociousness, decorated by the streaking lines of white and blue.

"I'm doing this to protect this village—Konoha," Sakura said, watching her mentor's eyes search for hers in her dark in the manner of a lost drifter's quest for treasure. "Sasuke . . . I think he's controlling Naruto by using his Mangekyō—the new eyes he flaunts. He's hurting Naruto. I won't allow it!"

"And why would he do that? What proof do you have of this accusation?" Tsunade asked, and the sound of her voice was so harsh, her features grey to Sakura's eyes.

"I—" Sakura stopped, her words stopped, her heart stopped, and then something strained inside of her, broke, and out came an insidious and harshest of anger and loathing and lust, which she chose to spew forth and fill this malleable mould of lies she had created to fashion into a tongue, face, and apparel of lies—as she saw fit.

"I learnt sensing to keep track of him," she began, tasting the vile nature of her words as they effortlessly slid over the lying tongue, "I'd planted a small Mokuton pellet in Fū-San's clothes, but he disappeared in the forest. Sasuke found him so fast.

"No one knew where he went, but he located the corpses within a day. Don't you find it strange? Sasuke killed Fū, because Danzō-Sama had assigned him to keep a watch on him. He'd been loitering about the forest and meeting someone in the Night Flower Village. I couldn't find out who it was, but I—"

"Many Shinobis go there to get drunk and play with women," Tsunade cut across her, and Sakura beheld a full smile curve her red mouth in the most tantalizing manner. "This is hardly a proof of the boy's treachery. You just proved that he's a man."

"Tsunade-Sama, it's—"

"Did you really kill the prisoner?" Tsunade asked, watching her student struggle beneath her gaze, her breaths loud, rough tunes in the office.

"W-What prisoner?" Sakura feigned ignorance, but she failed to control the discernible stammer in her voice. The sweat's sheen was bright in the sharp yellow of the old, old lantern's light.

"You've learnt to lie so well," Tsunade spoke, and her voice dropped to a sweet whisper full of anguish. Her face, though still beneath the airy mantle of shadows, wore the same expression that showed her discontent and fear.

Sakura held her lower lip between her teeth; ashamed and quiet, she did not know what to say. A spiral of storm raged inside her heart, emotions went away on the ebb and came back biting and roaring to collide with her composure. What was she to do in the face of fates?

Tsunade turned away towards the lantern, a dark figure in Sakura's gaze, and then she whispered something that wounded Sakura's heart so much: "get out of my sight . . . "

The words struck her, like an axe, in her gut that wrenched out a painful sob from deep inside her throat, but she held back the tears this time. Her whole body shivered in pain, but there was no blood to shoot all over the place this time: it was a different kind of disarming pain that had left her spirit paralyzed.

So she forced her body to bow before the woman, whom she loved with all her heart, and turned around, but before she left, she, too, whispered something that frightened the woman facing the light even more: "I'm the one who suggested to Danzō-Sama that a letter should be sent to the Daimyō's assistant. Sasuke can't be trusted. He needs to pay for what he's done, for what he wants to do. I won't let him hurt Naruto, my friends, and this village. I won't!"

Then Sakura pivoted smoothly and left the office, tracing the invisible prints of Danzō's dark, dark steps; and Tsunade moaned in anguish, silent and still, in his wake . . .

The walk back home was a sad one. Where was her heart bound? She did not know: she had never known its path. Spring came and went, but her heart was left without the essence of its springing sensations. How terrible for her that she shared a named with a flower that bloomed pretty every season, relished the taste of rapture she never knew.

And she recalled the day when she had lost her virtue after pining for him to return her wants for so long. She was eighteen, older than most, and had desired to keep herself pure for him, but even when he was a boy of fourteen, he knew how to reject her heart, her advances. He always broke her—always.

Her steps, slow and uneasy, lead her to her room, thoughts trapped in the season of spring. Spring's sun, benign, had touched the blooming skin, washed away the burden in a stream of bright light. Breaths of air laden with new flora, it was time for the wild spirit to be set free into the arms of primal callings.

Outside, ground was abloom—so many colours of pleasures, a feast for the eyes. Smells so sweet and enchanting, enticing the flesh and the slumbering animal to shudder and come forth—to take over this coil in such mad ways.

But inside she lay wide open, thighs spread obscenely upon his knees, flesh blushing in the vocative candle light, lips and cheeks rose coloured in the ghastly flicker. A cold darkness sat upon the room, hiding her and him away.

Bled she had from the deep groove between her plump thighs one day, and trailed down her legs it had as an obscene show of that place's ripened state—red against soft-pink, an invitation to invade that place with hard strokes, leave the seed, and watch her belly grow. Nature was a cruel master—an invasion, a fate of her form.

And she had surrendered to him, her growing body akin to a man's imitation of a little nymph. He had bent upon her and licked a wet line from tiny pebbles upon her breast to the tight, tight cunt right between her legs. It was moist and welcoming to take him in, lips swollen, fleshes open to show him that heated state for fucking.

Scents and fluids came from that place, and the still air soaked them up good to become a restless harlot in heat—sweet, so sweet, so wild. Wood absorbed the groans, pink air silent upon the dirty planks.

A thin streamlet came down from the crack in the room and fell upon her pronounced ribcage; it travelled between the shallow grooves, like roads, in her torso. Big hands, sure hands, drew sensations from the tense muscles in light strokes; and when it breached Nature's barrier, which sat before the deeper passage to her womb, an infernal pool was drawn from her body . . . skin shivering, eyes stinging, cunt vibrating with repeated intrusions.

His white hair appeared grey in the dimming light—a spectre in the shadows. A haze came over her eyes and pleasure stung the cunt to press harder. He groaned, and in his deep eyes that shone with a strange attachment now, she saw not the boy she desired, but a man. The one with hair of gold upon his head was too blundering for such an act, a fool, a nosy boy back then.

She could barely sustain the grimace in his expression: he was pushing harder, and with wild strokes, into her cunt to find contentment for his body. When it had risen from between his thighs, she had been surprised, afraid even; but now, her body welcomed the vibrations it enjoyed. Her heart did not; no, it feared and caved in upon itself, a fallen tomb, to know of the mishap—she was too young to watch her belly swell for him! Thin lips had wrapped around the moist crown, taken all of him in to feel the hot and shuddering thing slide back and forth inside her warm and smooth throat—a vulgar irrumation.

But the red in _that_ boy's eye had tumbled into her dreams: it was a red that could fill her body and soul with such want, but it was a cold red. Her body ached and rejected the reveries she busied herself daily with, a silly girl's fancy as he walked ahead aloof in front of her, steps stiff and sure.

Breaths scalded her throat and tears went down her cheeks, her skin a scorching inferno of primal urgencies—release, cum, expel. Fluids sprung from his cock and filled her womb to its depths and pooled as white upon the dirty brown in the dark. She was his, marked like a whelp in weak moments of arousal, and she did not want to be his . . .

Her limbs started trembling, fighting, ears listening to the old house that yawned around her, and then her cry wore off in a collection of such primal screams that he had to put his hand upon her glazed lips to silence her—she had cum . . . naughty, filthy, decadent creature. Such a rutting whelp in the season of heat and desire, but _he_ was still not hers—yet it was spring . . .

Yes, spring came and spring went, but he was never hers. Never. Why? She always wanted to know. What did she not possess that others did? What? She closed the door behind her, her thoughts stopping, her body firing up in need—again.

"Fuck you, Sasuke . . . " Sakura hissed in a low voice, her head bent, tears falling down upon the floor. "Fuck you . . . "

Then, as though trying to reject her thoughts of him, she proceeded on to her own room. Sheets lay rumpled on the bed. She had not been here in days. Her father needed her now, so she spent most of her days in her parents' home.

A smell of neglect, dusted up by her feet, rose up from the wooden floor; she would have to clean this place come tomorrow. She flopped down on the bed, which faced the mirror, and gazed at her reflection: an attractive young woman gazed back at her, her countenance affected by the usual emotions she was a thrall to.

Slowly, Sakura reached into her pocket and took out the phial of pink moth's poison—it was so pink and shiny, like her hair. She removed the top, took a whiff of it, and placed the top back on. A sensation rushed through her, and her mind flashed into a black-out. All colours vanished, and the phial dropped from her shivering hands to fall on the floor with a soft clink.

She fell onto her right side, eyes still on the mirage in the mirror, hand reaching between her thighs in search of her pleasures. Then, from the left side, an airy shadow moved into the mirror, such a beautiful mien, white and perfect. He laid his hand on her stomach, other hand trailing down to locate the source of her pleasures; and it was throbbing there still.

Colours moved upon the ceiling, and such a lovely intrusion split her open from her flesh down to the soul: rhythm, beauty, colours. An explosion of lights and scents, and nothing was as profound as the core that took a part of him in, so that he was her and she him.

Upon the air, smells vibrated, smells of rot and neglect. Pipes rusted through, metal bent, wood hollow, such was the state of things in her fragile mind; it was all heavy decay and light festering in the walls and rooms. But she was safe, feeling undulations deep in her flesh from the intrusions. And it dripped upon the floor, blood of maidens and men alike, but this time, it were colourless, viscous strings of pleasure.

Deeper his finger went, worming into the slimy wetness to touch the damp walls of secrets, but in the end, everything was just a shapely smudge upon the mirror—belief and make-believe toys of illusions; and she whispered, enamoured, bewitched, stupefied by poisons and him, finger slick and quick in its motions: "S-Sasuke . . . "

Yes, sweet was the smell of spring he exuded—always. Then, _finally_ , she was undone . . .

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Thunder came rolling and crashed into the walls, and they shuddered like frightened little children in response. The whip of light was soft and did not have the bite to leave any colour of its violence upon his skin. He drew one knee to his breast, the other dropped to his side, with his hand resting upon his thigh.

His complexion had improved in two nights: he no longer looked like a white corpse pulled out of the grave. His fever was gone; his mood was a little better, too, though he was still quite moody and easy to anger. _Well, some things never change_ , she thought and smiled, standing with her back to the thick wooden wall, gazing at the thin shafts of grey light come in from the sides of the thick wooden-bars—he had not bothered to close the portal, and as a result, thin streamlets of rain travelled down upon the wooden-wall to reach the floor; they had made quite the puddle by his futon. Itachi would be irritated again. Sasuke was just doing this on purpose now to draw an angry emotion out of him . . . so far, he had not been too successful.

Itachi just ignored him during day. He had come by twice to check upon him, and both times, he was fast asleep, too intoxicated by the sleeping-draught to notice his brother's presence. She sighed, eyes fixed upon his cool expression. He was gazing quite thoughtlessly at the letter he had thrown into the flames: it was ashes now.

"Did you do it?" he asked quite suddenly that she had to fetch a quick breath for a response. Then he looked at her and his face and eyes hardened so much—he was more angry than she had hoped . . .

"Sasuke, this isn't—" she stopped her words and gulped at the sight of a deep, threatening frown changing his features. This really was war now—anger and determination without a war-paint glaring upon his face.

"Do it, Karin," he rasped, red coming out to make certain that his point got across, "don't make me tell you again."

Karin exhaled out a long breath, seeing him appear hazy through the fog, which her warm breath had created. "He would find out, you know," she said and reached up to tangle her fingers in the red hair that lay upon her breast.

"Doesn't matter," he spoke with an angry countenance, his voice no less rough, no less burdened, "I can't open the seal without his blood. Yuu told me that he would be called there soon. I won't get another change."

"But, Sasuke, you—"

"Just put it there, damn you!" he hissed, and almost in reflex, got to his feet, his posture threatening but weak, his face hard but gaunt, his eyes red but cold—with the heavy hand of anger, illness, and something else she could not name.

Karin's heart lurched, hairs prickled on her head, and she felt so sad at the sight of the man she loved so much. The emotions evaporated from his face, red went away, and he slumped down upon the futon, his back bowed, his head bent—she could not even see his face behind the fall of his black hair that had grown longer in these past few weeks.

Then, as though a mischievous spirit possessed him, he let out a faint sound of laughter that startled her: her face reflected shock and a bit of pity. "My brother's a man of contradictions," Sasuke spoke with a faint note of glee in the sound of his voice, and she saw his lips move through the curtain of tar-coloured hair, "you don't know him like I do. He made himself into what he's now. The rest is just history . . . do as you're told. I intend to end this—even if it kills me."

And Karin was silent. She raised her eyes, and saw the sun creep below the trees that had just thrown a dark apparel upon their natural features. This would not end well . . .

Night crossed the face of the land and a dark smile rose to its mouth and shadows bloomed fresh everywhere, a spring in autumn's time. The sky was still black in the grip of storm, but its nature had been tempered just a bit by the passage of time. Inside this room, wind's voice was much softer than the voice of his wooden brush and the popping sounds of coals in the hearth. Their edges were deep red and hot—Tanaka had put them there in the evening.

It was warm in here, but that warmth had yet to affect his heart in the way she desired, wanted, wished. He had a richness of mien when he smiled (before his Obā-San), but it was always such a cold smile that it wounded her heart so. Winter was coming, but it had come early from his breast to envelop his face and body that the language of his actions was beholden to his aloof nature and manners.

Ever since his return, he had not so much as smiled at her, looked at her full, nor had he invited her to lay with him: she was still disallowed to enter his chambers. Even now, in the glowing light of the lanterns and hearth, his face possessed the same indifferent expression that had a touch of detachment she did not understand. Rao-Sama told her that he would come around, but he was as distant as ever.

Outside, the bamboo knocked against the rock set firmly into the ground, but owing to the present elements of nature, it got repeated several times till a loud one announced that the wind had finally calmed. She breathed in the charred-incense breath and looked at Rao's face out of the corner of her eyes the way one would cautiously gaze at a searing light. The old woman was smiling, with a scroll in her aged hands, her eyes bright and so full of love. The wrinkles in her face appeared more pronounced when her smile deepened.

She pulled her eyes away and passed them over the room: it was spacious and the cupboards, set into the wooden walls, had so many scrolls. A partition-screen was placed in the far corner—Kirin danced in the rain and threw lightning at his pursuers. It showed a season of autumn and spring. There was a deep shadow behind it.

She had been curious this morning to see what was behind the partition-screen, but a young male servant had forbidden her to go any further, said that Itachi-Sama did not like when his things were disturbed. A frown came upon her red lips, and she, quite slowly, returned her gaze back to Itachi. He was quiet, his face calm, and exhibited an air of such authority, which was betrayed just a bit by the perfection of his appearance; he really was such a beautiful man: strong, powerful, and intelligent—things she always admired about him.

He was everything Sasuke was not: he was wild, rowdy, cunning in an impish way she detested. Sasuke lacked the refined manners Itachi possessed, which had always drawn her to him, like a pink-moth to the purple ones that grew from silver bulbs, or the purple ones that grew stippled wings from wriggling things. When Rao had come to her with the prospect to lay with the younger one, she had scoffed at the idea. She had always felt the sharpest loathing for his tendency to draw Itachi's attentions to himself—all of his attentions.

Giddy, foolish girls may have been enamoured by the younger, more beautiful one, but she knew that her heart belonged to the older brother—the one who had stolen her heart, and her breaths, when they had sat beneath the tree as children, and she had worn, upon herself, shadows of the leaves under the dusking sky with a willing disposition. Sasuke did not deserve his love; he was just a greedy boy—a hateful boy! Itachi deserved someone who would return his warmth, his love, his kindness, with the same intensity. And she would grant him that and so much more. Sasuke and his deceit were to be damned!

Izumi curled her fingers into a fist and pressed the sleeve-covered knuckle to her lips. She wore a big and expensive kimono tonight. She had been careful about the style of her long hair and had asked a maid to help her with the impossible task, who did up her hair in the most delicate fashion. Pretty pins were put into the bun, and a comb was put in her lush hair, too—a shiny black one. Tiny ornaments, which decorated the pins, clinked and glimpsed whenever she moved. She wanted to say something to him, but it would have been so rude to speak without permission before the clan's Head; so she stayed silent, heart angry and sad, and waited for him to gaze upon her and return her smile with something more than an indifferent gaze . . .

"You are still working?" Rao asked and loose skin gathered around her eyes in deep folds when she smiled.

Itachi stopped writing, the rough sounds of the wooden-brush stopped, and he returned her gaze with a small glance. "A few letters from Anbu office," he spoke and put the brush into the ink bottle. "You should be in your room—resting. It is a cold night."

"Oh, you sweet boy," Rao replied, her voice sweet and lovely, "I came here to speak to you of Sasuke. Even _you_ know this."

Izumi's ears pricked up, and her eyes shone with a curiosity that Itachi was quick to quash. "Return to your chamber," he spoke without looking towards her, and she felt a sense of humiliation rise in her.

When she did not move, Itachi gazed at her, his eyes hardened, and a frown appeared in his brow. To her dismay, Rao was still smiling at Itachi: she had not bothered to intervene, nor had she stopped him from sending her away.

Izumi took in a shivering deep breath; then she got to her feet, gave a bow, and left the office in silence, her long garments trailing and rustling in her wake. When the sounds of her feet died in the distance, which was created by the barrier of the thick wooden door, he spoke: "she is quite disobedient."

Rao emitted a soft laugh in response and pressed her hand to her breast as though his remark amused her to no end. "You have not even bothered to invite her to your chamber. She is just distraught—the poor girl," Rao said, her eyes and lips smiling.

He remained silent for a few moments, his gaze bent upon the scroll in her hands. "Tell the Elders that I do not wish to speak of Sasuke," he said and let out the breath in his breast in a slow exhalation. "The matter can wait."

The happy smile went away from Rao's lips that formed a dainty, sad smile in its place, and the lines in her face appeared less deep, almost shallow now. "They require an answer—you must give them one," she spoke and placed the scroll on the small table before her.

Itachi picked up the scroll and opened it. He read it with a calm expression, and, as always, his features told little of his heart. The scroll had a seal of Uchiha-Elders, and they desired an urgent meeting concerning Sasuke's role in the assassination of Danzō's guards. In silence, he placed the scroll back on the table and regarded her with a settled glance that mingled so many emotions—yet showed none for her eyes to behold, and that left her so distraught . . .

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	62. Trouble for the Young 'un

**Chapter Sixty-Two** : Trouble for the Young 'un

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A stitch in time saves nine, but when so many stitches came loose, you could only mend so many. His father sat before the lantern's light that crashed against his back, like smooth waves, spilt over, and cascaded down the sides—without disturbing the darkness that had fitted itself tightly against him. He could only see a bit of his left cheek, limned in the dullness.

Light came forth, from the same old and red lantern, and touched the careworn cheek of his young companion. His heart, which was usually aglow with a child's fascinations, had turned old in the recent months. It had learnt to thump to the rhythms of lust, desires, caution. These were new things; and a secret chamber had grown inside its walls and truths alternated with lies, and his ever-ready tongue was less shy each time it made trip the words. Such was life—such were lies . . . such an eager little liar!

He had not had the courage, nor the conviction, to make trial of his own heart; no, but his father's eyes were stern, hard, sharp to see him—all of him. He always felt naked when he came here and sat before the man whose blood galloped in his veins, and deny he might its value and worth, he was his imitation—in the best of ways, in the worst of ways.

"He's made no mention of it—not to me," Shisui spoke, his voice failing to hide his anxiety.

He saw his friend's face, in the corner of his eyes, assume a more troubled expression—the kind he had never seen upon his face before—and it troubled him, too. He directed his gaze forward, eyes sensing the unease in his heart, not letting red come over for a reassurance. Outside, a storm was happening, and inside his own heart worked itself into a rhythm with the way the wind moved . . . he was afraid, but he stayed quiet; it was not his place to speak—he was too young for that.

So he passed his gaze over the dark faces and the sparse illuminations the lantern's old light provided. His father took in a deep breath, and as though it was in his nature to imitate him, he, too, did the same. Cool air calmed the anxious blood in his temples, but only just.

An old sword-rack sat in one corner inside the alcove. A beautiful scroll painting hung behind the rack, which was empty; his father had painted the scroll's shades with a fine brush: it showed a changing season in sweeping, bold movements—half of the trees wore pretty shades of decay, and the rest swayed bare in winter's chill, their limbs twisting with frailty; a few crows had made nests between the boughs. That was all he could see in the play of dim light and shadow. There was an ocean behind the trees, but it was not visible from his perch.

"This is not appropriate, Shisui," his grandmother spoke, who sat on his father's left, her voice aged, but firm. He had never heard such an intonation in her tone: it was commanding, almost harsh; but _still_ he said nothing.

"Rao-Sama, I'm—" Shisui tried to speak, but he was cut short when Nomura raised a silencing hand.

"Danzō's men are running around. He herds them well—perhaps too well," Nomura said, and his eyes narrowed upon Shisui before glancing briefly back at him; then he continued in a manner as if he was not even there: "he speaks of such unthinkable things—terrible things. Yet you are still in the dark. What have you been doing all this time, young Uchiha?"

Shisui bowed his head, hiding his face to escape the shame. Sweat had risen out of his pores to envelop his skin like little sheer pearls in the light. Little drops lay scattered about his nape, which shivered in a way that was almost profound. He did not like it; he did not like it at all. So, at the sight of his helplessness, he forgot the codes, he forgot the mannerisms expected of an heir, and felt his heart work itself, now, into a different rhythm: defiance!

"This isn't fair!" he spoke, fixing his eyes upon his father who was silent still. Nomura's and Rao's Sharingans came out to admonish him and his insolence. His, too, rose just the same to respond to the challenge.

"This is not a matter of fairness, my _sweet_ darling," Rao spoke first, her voice mellowed so much by emotion. "Times are hard. We as people have to stand strong and battle these differences, or else we have no legacy—no future." Then she was silent, and red got puffed out in her eyes, and his went away just the same. He could not even see the colour and shape of her eyes any longer: _hide colour, hide, become this dark's bride_.

"Shisui-San's doing as much as he can," he said and tried his hardest to make his voice harsher like that of a man's; but he was no man—he was a boy still. A sweet little boy who had tasted rancid things, ugly things, sweet things that confused him and hurled him into a dark pit of reality; and slowly he changed, unaware he changed, unrelenting he changed; and sweet was this mockery and sweeter his lies.

"Itachi, stay quiet," Shisui mumbled from his right, his countenance showing even more shame than he had hoped.

"But—this . . . "

"What is this—this matter of fairness?" his father spoke at last, in a voice that was deep, rich, but so commanding that it hushed wind and storm into silence. It went into his ears, and it was all he could hear, see, and feel: it had invaded all of his senses to become a single sense that flowed through him like sweet waves, which filled his imagination—he feared him, he imitated him, and he . . . loved him, too? He did not know . . .

"Otō-Sama, you . . . you're not being fair," he spoke, with hesitation, and bowed his head low to look upon the sweat-drops that covered his hands.

Itachi expected his father to speak, but it was Nomura who spoke first: "your son has grown so disobedient. He does not even have the sense to stay silent before his elders. You have been lax with him."

He did not raise his eyes to look upon his father; he only heard a release of breath from his lips, which sounded slightly laboured. Itachi did not like Nomura at all. The storm's voice had returned with a new ferociousness now; it knew that his father's voice had gone silent for the time being.

"What does he say about that Elite Force business?" Rao asked and coughed afterwards to clear her throat.

"He hasn't said anything to me," Shisui replied, and his voice sounded no less meek.

"Danzō loves his lies," Nomura spoke, his voice a little sharper than before that it was clear enough in the whistling sound of the wind. "He has made an alliance with this force to defeat us. We will not stand still and let him create schemes of our demise—be wary."

Shisui nodded and mopped sweat from his brow. "He didn't reveal anything more?" he asked and raised a shaky hand to adjust his Anbu flak-jacket; it was clear that his mind was elsewhere, and Itachi knew why; but he kept his promise and said nothing.

"No," she said, and he heard a rustle of heavy garments, "he died before we could get anything out of his mind. Who knows what Konoha is planning now?" Itachi grimaced at her remark—this was bad. If Danzō found out, Shisui would be in trouble!

"Must be the lands they desire—still crawling like rats in those tunnels," Nomura said, and he saw Shisui's expression change subtly, which must have been seen by the keen red of his father's eyes.

"Leave—both of you," his father commanded, and, like an obedient son, he rose to his feet, bowed, and left the room behind Shisui. Few voices floated like dust upon air to his ears, but the seals on the door were too strong to allow them their escape.

He stood silent in the dark, gazing at Shisui's face, which was illuminated continually by the lightning's flashes powering through the lattice. The corridor was dark. His father had not asked of Tanaka to light the lantern in the entrance. Itachi heaved a sigh and looked to his left and saw big black eyes peeking around the corner, spying on them; then they disappeared after another flash, and he smiled—all his anxiety forgotten.

Light Feet thumped down the wooden corridor, and the shadow, which was much larger than the small body before, grew smaller across the wall on the right; but Itachi was too fast. He flashed towards his chamber's door and grabbed hold of the little boy before he could slide the door open: the child emitted a startled sound. "Out of your bed and playing games at this time of the night?" he asked and lifted him up into his arms. "Okā-San will be angry with me."

"Can I sleep withyu, Nii-San? Can I?" Sasuke asked, his cheeks growing ruddy in anticipation. He created a half-toothy sort of smile as he had yet to grow a few teeth in the lower pink-gums. Itachi let out the softest laugh at the sight of him: Sasuke was all pink and sweaty in the face, his smile growing bigger, cheeks growing rounder and pinker! He wanted an answer—now!

Then a loud sound shook the whole house; Sasuke reflexively buried his face in Itachi's shirt and let out a sound so loud that Itachi felt it through his whole body. _This_ storm was no less ferocious, felt by this room full of Men; its voices moved into his bones, and they vibrated as though in answer. He preferred his tongue to be quiet, but what to do about that disobedient heart and flesh and bones? Some things were beyond his control—beyond every man's control.

So he sat on a slightly raised section in the room, with fires lighted on his left and on his right, looking at the Council of Elders: Ten sat on the left, and ten sat on the right, facing each other. As his gaze crossed their faces, he was a little surprised that he could not recall the names of some of these men and women. Kai and Serizawa sat on either side of the heavy-door, and from this far (in shadows), they appeared like two bronze Buddha statues dirtied by dirt and muck to dark grey shades.

Outside, there was still light, which had gone behind the heavy storm clouds. Light came dull grey and soft through the paper-screen fitted in the wooden panel on the right. Behind his back, a bonsai-tree's wood-work decorated the large wall, its leaves, dirty green where the shadows became thick, appeared to touch the ceiling.

A forest sprawled behind the backs of the elders on the sliding-doors and wooden panels, their boughs lush and rich, eternally green—or as long as the colours did not dim and attain a dull-state. A sword-rack sat on the right, but no girl sat there this time to hold his sword (an old custom forgotten by his people during the days of his grandfather); his sword lay by his knee upon the mat, its sheath so dark in the intermittent lights of the storm. Would Sasuke be afraid tonight? His heart did not know . . .

He wore traditional clothes, like always these days; it was required of him for these quaint meetings. His face was very serious, long throat bare, as always, and hair tumbled loosely over his shoulders. From their perches, he looked no less intimidating than an emperor.

"Such a mess," one said from the end, his tone filled with derision. Itachi did not need his Sharingan to see his face. It was less aged than others: few shallow lines were etched in his forehead and around his mouth; he was young compared to most in here.

"How many accusations have been leveled against him? How long must this go on?" another spoke from the left, his tone no less harsh. His countenance appeared to be the same—hard, round, and angry. He was, probably, even younger than he. Itachi was silent, his heart elsewhere, caught up in the tunes from wind's mouth, mind embroiled in a turmoil. Oh, Sasuke—what had the child done?

"Things happen, young' un. It is best to locate reason," an elder man said and moved a little to sit upright—a futile struggle as the stoop in his back was too great—and the loose skin of his chin swayed between his small shoulders like a sail in wind.

"Why now have these accusations come?" an old woman, almost as old as his grandmother, asked in a smooth voice, her bearing calm and regal that defied her age. She had done up her hair into a large whorl on the back of her head. Four ornamental pins, her family's heirlooms, decorated her hair—most of which were still black; a few silver streaks ran from behind her puffy ears to the back of her head.

"We lost the lands, our honour, our men—and now they come for the young heir? This is not a coincidence," Nomura spoke at last. He occupied the space his brother had only a year ago: he was taken by a long illness this spring. The loss had tempered the haughty look on his face; he appeared almost sober in countenance now.

Itachi never enjoyed his company, and his presence, here today, meant nothing but trouble in his eyes. More murmurs and questions came from the elders' lips. He did not know how to answer them all; it was not as though he ever sat with his father much to oversee the proceedings. They always irked him, and his lack of interest had resulted in this . . . dilemma.

"The young heir is silent," one young man spoke—Seiwa was his name, regal was the expression upon his face that was much too pallid; and, suddenly, all eyes (young and old) were upon him. This sudden weight of gazes did not change his expression: he looked coolly back at him, a faint smile crossing his lips this time.

"You all have many questions—I am but one man," Itachi spoke, and his voice sounded almost amused.

"What is this assassinations' business, young heir?" an old woman, Kumiko, asked in a rough voice. She was said to possess such beauty in her youth. Her name was . . . strange, he thought.

"I shall tell you what it is," a rowdy-looking man spoke, who looked a little older than Seiwa, "Sasuke has killed Torune—he had killed Fū as well, and Kami knows how many others he has felled. Am I not right, Itachi-Sama?" He looked over to him, and he saw anger, hatred in this man's eyes and it surprised him . . .

Horrified gasps circled it thick waves about the hall, but his calm was undisturbed. "Perhaps you should share what you know as I remain ignorant of the authenticity of these accusations," Itachi said, and one old man let out a subtle gasp of surprise, and then his mouth sagged open: he seemed horrified. They had thought these to be accusations—where was this man steering this?

"Are you shielding your brother?" he accused, his voice bolder than before.

Itachi considered him for a brief moment: he appeared young, younger than he, resolute, and unrelenting in a way that was beginning to irk him. His expression was hard, almost smug, as though he was challenging him.

"Who are you? I have never seen you here before," Itachi said, his tone without an emotion, and he bent his gaze full upon him. The man did not flinch.

"Yamato," he said, subtly puffing out his breast. "My father, Otomo, was killed in the massacre with Fugaku-Sama. My uncle used to sit in my place. He passed away three years ago." His face became harder, like chiseled iron, at the mention of him, but Itachi remained silent.

"Yamato enjoys Konoha's whip upon his backside," Seiwa spoke, and his wicked smile drew a growl from Yamato.

"Someone has to safeguard this clan's future. We cannot remain stubborn any longer, refusing to mingle with the Elders' council. This will alienate us more," Yamato spoke, an angry twitch apparent round his sharp-as-metal cheekbones. He gave the impression of an ill man.

"And that shall be you? Then I fear for us all," Seiwa returned with amusement in his voice and upon his face.

"Better than our Head's wild brother," Yamato spoke deeply, his breast pumping up and down under the layers of his kimono. He was unable to hide his anger.

The storm outside halted, and Itachi, if nothing else, became immensely curious. Cool wind sung autumn's song; a leaf had stuck out like a sour thumb—autumn's reaping was needed to attain _true_ equality in Itachi's garden. So he watched, nearly amused by Yamato's vehemence to implicate his brother.

"I am _Kiryu,_ " another young man spoke from Yamato's right, his face set in a look of utmost displeasure, "I believe you are being . . . lenient with you brother, Itachi-Sama. If he is truly involved in such a crime, then he should be handed over to Root. It is only just and fair."

Nomura let out a shallow laugh, which rang out louder in the quietness of the sleeping storm, and looked at him, his face inquisitive. "And I suppose you will be content with what clan-related sensitive matters they drag out of the boy's head? Do you make light of our Sharingan-legacy? Such a fool," he spoke, still smiling, though Kiryu seemed unfazed.

"Itachi-Sama can wipe his mind clean of such things—his Genjutsu is powerful. I do not see how the whole clan should suffer at his hands." Then he huffed out a sigh and went silent. His words had sparked such anger in Itachi's heart that his Sharingan nearly slipped up to skim the black-waters of his eyes.

"How foolish," Kumiko mocked, her hand resting upon her breast. "Handing over the son of an heir to a foe? Your father has not taught you well."

"Kumiko-Sama, if I may," another man, younger than the Elders, spoke from the end; he sat beneath the growing long shadow that heralded evening, "we have to integrate into this village. We cannot prolong these differences if we are to survive as a clan. Our past is filled with such bad blood—it is time to put this behind this.

"How long must this go on? Sasuke's actions are terrible and deserve punishment. He should serve as a mean to strengthen the broken ties between Root and us—a sacrifice for the greater good."

The hall went silent, and his words went like knife through Itachi's heart. It was as though he was hearing his own words through another's lips, and the conviction in them . . . nearly frightened him. Rao was shaking by the fireplace's light. Sweat channeled through the deep wrinkles in her face and fell down upon her breast. She was livid.

"How _dare_ you—speak this way about my grandson before me? How dare you!" she rasped in anger, voice rising like a storm's fury in the silence.

"Forgive me, Rao-Sama," the man spoke and bent his head a little in a customary bow Itachi knew to be insincere, "but I see no other solution. What happens when Root and other Shinobi come for us all? Do you desire for every man, woman, and child to die here for Sasuke's sins? It is not wise, nor fair in my eyes."

"I will not hear any more of this poison," Rao said, voice rough, hands shaking; she did not look well.

"It is better for Sasuke to stand trial," Kiryu suggested with confidence, and Yamato gave a murmur of agreement. Old voices rose from the elders', who were nothing more than vestiges of the past, withering away right before his eyes, and he . . . he felt distraught.

For the first time in Itachi's life, he did not know which thoughts he was supposed to weave. His darling was truly in peril. Had he made in error in thwarting Sasuke's designs in that girl's demise? He closed his eyes and drew in the scent of earth redolent of autumn's reaping. Winter's smells had not invaded their essence. It would not come that soon this time . . .

And the voices kept rising, and the storm kept roaring beyond the sturdy walls built by his people, but Sasuke was not a babe who would cling to his breast anymore in fear; but he was not as old as he, either—he would _never_ be; and a child he would remain, always, all sweet and pure and innocent; for that was how he saw him, and that was how it would be.

"You have not answered any of our questions," Yamato persisted like an ever-present annoyance, and his voice pierced through his serene thoughts and cooing sounds from a babe's lips, who rode upon wind's cradle in happiness.

Itachi's vision focused on him, and this time, Sharingan rose. Then it metamorphosed into shurikens that spun like a wicked threat in his eyes, which were so cool, so glassy despite the warmth of red that Yamato's façade crumpled into an expression that showed his present state: he seemed fearful now.

His Mangekyō crawled upon their faces, watching the red rise in each person's eyes as silent retorts and cool assurances, tracking the formation of sweat upon the napes of the younger ones. Silence hissed from the walls, heard by his ears as a sharp ringing sound that momentarily attacked his senses; but wind's noise proved to be a quick remedy for his pain.

Itachi returned his gaze back to Yamato, his eyes tracing the poor visage of bravery he wore to hide his true nature from Itachi's eyes—he was so unsuccessful. Itachi pulled in a breath so deep that it moved his breast; then he spoke: "I do not know about this assassination matter any more than you, Yamato."

Yamato lowered his eyes, almost feeling Itachi's Sharingan poke through his pupils to reach the back and burn his chakra-veins there. "Root's affairs are not my business," he continued, passed his right hand over the left, and held it tightly, "if Sasuke was guilty, then he would have been put to death in my absence, but his execution did not occur."

"It hardly means that he is innocent," Kiryu spoke, earning more nods from the same men.

"You are quite keen in your pursuit. Why do you desire to see my brother's death so badly?" he asked and created a cold smile upon his face. His face suddenly seemed whiter in the light as the shadow of his spectral form spread behind his back, leeching the colour from the veins of this painting that it looked . . . so dull behind him now.

"This is _not_ just your concern, Itachi-Sama. It is our business—" Kiryu stopped at the sight of Itachi's hand.

Itachi grabbed his sword and rose up from his perch, and the shadow behind him stretched tall, like a daemon, upon the wall. His face suggested nothing—like a white theatre-mask it was, all perfect and white and horrifying. An artificial smile cracked that perfect countenance just a bit, but he looked no less unnatural than before.

"My brother's life and his affairs are _my_ business, not yours," he said, voice cold and slow like the first winter's wind, "you should worry less about what happens in my house, Kiryu." His name sounded odd from his lips—his tone suggested a latent threat so sweetly; but Kiryu did not have the courage in his breast to answer that threat.

"I have seen his mind, and it tells me nothing new," he lied and closed his eyes to breathe in, his lashes sweeping against the sharp cheeks. "Even if he had murdered these men, the blame would fall upon him. It would affect no one but him. This worry of yours is so foolish and misplaced."

And wind sang through the bamboo, and it knocked against the thick stones. The hall was so silent now that he could hear every breath escape their lips. Hazy fog rose from the fires and spiraled round the pillars on the right and left, like airy serpents. The smell of earth had risen from the ground as breaths at the first touch of rain. It flowed languidly in his direction.

"You young ones have wasted my whole day—and that of the old men and women," he spoke, his gaze moving over the faces of the young elders who refused to meet his gaze. "I have a duty to Sasuke as his brother and father, to this village as my position demands of me—and to you as a clan Head. Leave the small worries about Sasuke to me and direct your concerns to other, more pressing clan matters that demand your attention. Do not summon me here for such a trivial matter again."

Then he went quiet, looked about in peculiar way, and left the hall with smooth steps. Kai and Serizawa left the hall silently in his wake. Silence pervaded the space for so long before it was broken by an exasperated breath that came from the depths of Kiryu's throat—he truly loathed Itachi . . . outside, rain had started falling, colliding with the stone-pathway. A storm was approaching, but he would not let Itachi get away—not this time.

Itachi reached home and changed his ceremonial garments for his Anbu uniform. He had that bandit business to handle. They were running amok un-herded in the mountains. This was not how he had imagined this—everything had turned into such a mess; but he was calm, calculating, and dangerous. He would find another way to clean this up.

When he stepped outside, he found Rao standing beneath the leaning tree with a large traditional umbrella in hand. Water streamed off the umbrella and fell down upon the grass, which was still green. From this angle, she looked so small, with her shoulders hunched forward—all tiny and frail. Izumi stood beside her, with a pink umbrella above her head. Her black hair was twisted into thick whorls on either side of her head, and, as always, ornamental pins and a bamboo-comb decorated her head like extra accessories. Her kimono had several layers of clothing, and it floated in the wind as though she stood in knee-high water. She dressed in this manner every day, and he found it so . . . odd.

The stone-pathway was slick, and a silver sheen covered the stone-lanterns that were out. As he approached her, he noticed that her right fist was clenched by her hip; she heaved herself down into a squatting position and pressed something through the soft earth. He could not see what it was . . .

"If you do not go inside, you will catch a cold," Itachi spoke and watched as she moved the earth around with her aged fingers. She looked over her shoulder, her face gathering into the softest smile. Izumi whipped round, her face going as red as apples, and the ornaments chinked in her hair, announcing the movement before she made it.

He turned his head a bit and gazed to his right, watching Jūgo make his way down the stairs to the room that held Sasuke. A slight look of displeasure came to his face, but he made no movement to stop him. That look was not registered by Izumi's eyes: she just looked on, mesmerized by the sight of him and his hair that whipped around his face in the breeze. He turned his face towards his grandmother again, and the tight look faded from his face—slowly.

"Leaving already?" Rao asked as she rose slowly to stand on her feet. Itachi held out his hand; she wiped her hand on over her kimono and pressed it into his palm. Then he nodded towards the house once without looking at Izumi. She huffed out a sigh, bowed, and tramped across the garden to go back into the house.

Rao emitted a laugh and sat down upon the wooden bench-like structure, with Itachi. "Invite her into your chambers—she is so distraught," she said and made a rough sound in her throat to clear her air-passages.

"I do not have the time, nor the patience to play with this girl," he said, his eyes transfixed upon the lilies swaying in the corner. "These meetings are a nuisance. I will not entertain another one."

"Oh, darling," Rao sighed, reached up, and pressed the palm of her hand against his blushing cheek. It was cold—so cold outside; but he was young, and his male blood was strong enough to combat this bitter chill in the air.

Rao leant her face up close and pressed kisses to his right cheek and lips, which were so red in the cold. Then she placed her hand upon his and caressed the fingers, almost thoughtlessly, her head on his arm. "I used to sit here with you in my arms—right here beneath this tree," she began, taking in a long, long breath that filled her with the unforgiving air of autumn, "you would coo and make such lovely sounds at the sight of the autumn moths.

"They fascinated you, and your small, pretty mouth would smile just like that. You never smiled a lot, and I was afraid that you were unhappy. I really was . . . " And her smile grew solemn, and her face filled with such love; sitting there in the light that came down from a dissipating storm, he was just like Mafuyu—her Mafuyu.

Then her heart did a pitter-patter at the sight of him. It was a day like this: dusk was approaching, and a sweet red shade was turning to purple beneath the horizon. A war was happening beyond these walls, and he had sat by her side and promised her that he would come back. Her nose wriggled, registering the smell of dying leaves and growing lilies—a lovely mixture.

And he had promised her again that he would come home as he sat in the light rain like this, his face turned away from her to look upon the reddening sky that was just like blood—like his Sharingan. Droplets of cold water streamed off his black-as-night hair and beaded over his lips and skin. Raindrops stood quivering over his lashes, and, as his mouth smiled, soft, like an image in a mirage, she recalled the day when she saw Mafuyu for the last time—as he had asked for her forgiveness and said his farewells to fight for this village. She never saw him again . . .

Wind's breaths melted over his cheek and left a deeper blush. He was not like Mafuyu—he _was_ Mafuyu; and this thought lighted her soul with a cool fire. He had come to her: he had promised! Her hand trembled upon his, and he looked at her and saw a quick gleam appear in the corners of her old, old eyes.

"What worries you, my sweetest darling?" Rao asked and closed her eyes, his wet hair, which were scattered about his shoulder, plastered to the side of her cheek.

"This matter is tiresome—who proposed this meeting? It could not have been the old elders." He heaved a sigh, his disposition unchanging.

"Kiryu," she said and looked up at him, seeing a dangerous look flicker in his eyes for just the briefest moments—only to disappear.

When he did not say anything, she spoke: "overlook his mistake—he is just a fool."

"A fool that desires the demise of my brother? You have grown so soft, Obā-San," he said and heard her huff out a little laugh.

"No, my darling, I have just grown old," she said, her tone a little robust. Then she raised her hand and combed her fingers through his hair and smoothed his hair in a manner she loved.

Wind came to them and shushed their breaths. Rain had grown mellow, and autumn's presence was still spurring its mount into a wild state again: he could smell the grass, soil, and rotten leaves in the air, but the smell of lilies was the strongest, overpowering his other senses, like the sound of his father's voice.

"Take him out of the cell—you are just unhappy," she said with a smile that grew wider at the tight frown in his brow.

"He has grown . . . _obscenely_ disobedient. I say one thing and he does another—just to spite me. He needs to realise what he has done," he said with a thread of irritation in his smooth voice, his face suggesting the same; then he turned a bit to gaze upon her, and his cheek came under the lush leaves' shadows. "I do not want you being lenient with him. He has to listen. I hope you have made arrangements for the gathering?"

She hooked her hand around his arm, her hand across her mouth, and let out the loudest laugh he had ever heard from her. Little charms, which Mikoto had made in the past, tinkled at the heavy-door, and her dying laughter mingled with the sounds, disappearing like a babe's breath.

"He would become so angry. Must you be so strict?" Rao asked and pressed her lips into a thin line to hold her laugh.

"He needs to be disciplined," he answered and stood up when he heard sounds of soggy-steps beyond the garden; Serizawa had come and he had to leave and there would be _such_ trouble for the young 'un. Then he gazed down at her, and a faint smile crossed his lips. "You look so cold. I will instruct the servant girl to make warm tea for you."

Rao's eyes wandered from his face, which still wore signs of dusk's light, to the sky; purple had grown richer, deeper at the far end. Wind's breaths came cold and harsh. Night was approaching. She rubbed her hands together and leant the umbrella against the large stone jutting out of the wet-grass.

"Instruct the feisty girl to behave herself when he is in the manor. You really should not have chosen her, Obā-San. She has been quarreling with him like a child behind my back," Itachi spoke, and his mouth showed the first signs of a frown.

"Did Tanaka tell you?" Rao asked, amused—Itachi only smiled in reply. "I like her tea, and her pretty lips, and her small nose. She's such a lovely girl. Not worthy of my beautiful, _beautiful_ boy, but she can be obedient if you talk softly to her, look at her full—you do neither, you naughty child." She wiped a hand across her cheeks, loving the touch of cool rain upon her skin; his chakra had travelled from his pores into her aged skin, invigorating it with a magnificent fire that she felt alive—her heart was alive!

"Then you should have chosen Tanaka as my wife. He brews such a wonderful tea," Itachi said and amusement came into his eyes that gleamed in the shadows. Rao's shoulders heaved, and she pressed her hand to her lips again, softly laughing.

"Oh, hush, he cannot bear children—and he is so old and ugly for you," she said and dabbed her cheeks with a cloth she had hoisted out of her obi.

Itachi leant down, his hair cascading against his cheeks. "You have dirtied your wooden sandals," he said and nodded towards her feet. She looked down—dirt caked her toes. She had been thoughtless in her task.

"Shall I pick you up in my arms? Your sandals will make such a mess upon the wooden floor," Itachi whispered, mouth smiling in a way she loved—just like Mafuyu!

Rao could only smile—lost in his eyes that cradled her whole world!

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He sat in a chair, back stooped, and held his forehead. His eyes upon Kirin as it pecked at the fish pieces in his plate. It had made quite a mess on the futon: bread crumbs lay scattered everywhere, and numerous trails of muddy prints travelled to and fro across the white cover—it had chased a few insects simply to fulfill an adventurous hunger.

At last, he bent forward and grabbed hold of it with a sweeping movement of his hand. It let out an ear-splitting sound in anger and glared at him. "Do you want to get locked up in a cage? Stop that!" he warned when it pecked at his fingers. After a few more frantic movements of its sharp beak, it fell silent and started to emit soft pattering sounds.

"It's quiet out there," Jūgo spoke, his voice calm, soothing like the rain. "Are you sure that Root is involved in this?"

He took in a heavy breath, his groggy mind starting to find its pace again. These sleeping draughts had robbed him of his thinking capacity. Sweat ran from his brow, and he moved his free hand to wipe it away. The fire felt too hot on his skin. Did he still have a fever? He did not know. He would ask Yuu to put it out . . .

"Nii-Sama killed Meru. He wouldn't have done it without a reason," Sasuke spoke and straightened his back, his vision murky—he could not see the shingles upon the roof that clearly.

"Is this true?" Jūgo asked Karin who stood in silence with her back pressed against the smooth wall.

"That's what he said to Serizawa. I wasn't there, so I wouldn't know," she said, eyes upon this giant of a man who looked tall and intimidating in the shadow. A loose and massive cloak hung from his broad shoulders—compared to him, Itachi and Sasuke looked almost delicate.

"He could be lying," Sasuke rasped, and a look of confusion came into Jūgo's face.

Karin folded her arms across her breast, her Sensing on to feel things beyond the Fuin-Jutsu barrier ripening upon the door. She had put hindrances in its mechanisms on Sasuke's instructions, but Itachi had yet to notice anything; and if he had, then he had feigned ignorance.

Why had Itachi not killed them all? She did not understand him. He was a strange man. Did he really have something to do with the massacre as Sasuke had rambled in the grip of fever and anger? She really did not know, but his attitude was troubling . . . it seemed to her that he did contradictory things: he did things out of love for Sasuke, but he did things to hurt him, too. She did not understand him at all, and his decision to spare Taka, she thought (as Sasuke had suggested), had a lot to do with the scroll he had taken from Suigetsu's possession than his love for Sasuke.

She fetched a quick breath, and her sensing collided against Itachi's form in the garden and that of Rao. Then it trod further and enveloped the smooth petals of lilies as they bounced up and down in the soft rain. Autumn had sapped most floras of chakra and energy, but theirs was a peculiar one—strong and beautiful and resilient.

Thunder clapped, and a sudden shiver raced through her upper-body. Her gaze fell upon Sasuke again—he was unusually quiet. He had not spoken a word since morning, but what he had done would surely get him in trouble, and they would all face severe consequences.

"Who leads Meru's men?" Sasuke asked, his voice a little rough in his throat.

"I don't know, but it's someone close to him. I haven't been able to find out who," Jūgo replied and adjusted that big cloth around his shoulders; his bearing was always kindly, considerate, and he regarded Sasuke with fond eyes.

"They haven't stayed here without a reason," Sasuke said and stood up, and in the light, his face was dangerously pale, his bearing slack as though he was tired beyond belief. His cheekbones were sharper than usual: her heart could not bear to see him this way. Was Itachi poisoning him again?

Thunder clapped again, but this time, the sound was louder. The whole room shook, and the vibrations lasted for a few seconds. Karin saw him turn around, open the cage, and put Kirin inside; it had fallen asleep. Then he slumped back down into the chair and assumed the same tired posture again.

No one spoke a word. A smell of damp earth and lilies invaded the space, and as though it filled him with strength, he straightened his back and looked towards Jūgo. "Find out who it is, and tell him . . . " he paused, and his eyes moved slightly to focus upon the fire that crackled as though it had distracted him, " . . . tell him that Nii-Sama killed Meru."

"Sasuke! Are you mad?" Karin gasped and jerked forward and clenched her fingers, making tight fists of them. Her face had gone white and colour had nearly drained from her cheeks that he could see the red freckles so clearly now—they were like a map of innumerable pin-pricks that crossed the expanse of her nose to reach the other cheek.

She was not surprised when he smiled. "Are you so angry with him that you'd do something so silly?" she asked and noticed no change in the impish, naughty, child-like expression on his face that meant nothing but trouble!

"Is this wise? I don't know, Sasuke. This might create more trouble than we need," Jūgo spoke and folded his tree-trunk sized arms across his mighty breast. He tilted his head a bit, lost in thought. The pleasant weather provided a smooth flow of Natural Energy, which cooled off his wilder side—always.

"They have a buyer," Sasuke said, and a throaty chuckle poured from his lips. "Without telling them of this terrible loss, they won't reveal it. Someone's paying them—someone other than Root. I need to know who, and I need to know it soon." Then the sweet expression melted away, and a sinister anger rushed to his face and went into his eyes to turn them so red and so dangerous that she was struck speechless.

"You think Meru was just a middle man?" Jugo asked, his countenance too curious for an expressionless and calm man like him.

Wind flowed in unhindered through the open window and pushed the enchanting smell in their direction. Its essence was brunt upon the fire and turned into something noxious but sweet. She did not like this at all . . .

"Someone will show up—soon. Tell me when they do. Don't come here again. Send in the message with a bird if you have to," he said, bent forward in the chair, and held his face in his hands. "Get me that seal from one of the tunnels by the hideout. It's right behind the deity-statues. Shouldn't be hard to find."

When no one said a word, he spoke again, his voice muffled through the hands: "Leave—both of you."

He heard them leave through the heavy door. Then, as always, a natural quiet filled the room and his ears, but wind whispered _things_ to them and rain made melodies, like a divine instrument in able hands. The fire almost felt pleasant now. His fever had thawed and so had his spirits. His mind got lost in the past, and he heard nothing for several long minutes till the soft sounds of sandals disturbed his peace.

"I thought I told you to leave? Don't bother me without a reason," he spoke, with anger in his voice, and looked up. He nearly shrunk back when he saw his brother who stood in the light of the fire, his face inscrutable. He was in his Anbu clothes as always: he hardly saw him without them these days. Anger vanished quite a bit from Sasuke's eyes and face—just a little of it remained behind as a customary show of his defiance. He really could not control _all_ of it, so it spilt—all pretty and soft red in his eyes.

"What do you want?" Sasuke asked, sensing that anger retreat from his face to sizzle anew in the core of his heart, like hot iron.

Itachi did not speak a word for a few fleeting moments, his bearing kingly to his eyes, his presence commanding that stuck that hot iron like a heavy hammer in the hand of a seasoned blacksmith. "Come," he spoke, and Sasuke heard it as a soft breath that had come from his lips.

Then Itachi turned away, and even though Sasuke had no desire to follow him, he did—like a child that knew only to chase after him by Nature's and his own heart's designs. Outside, purple had enveloped everything, and gone was that red hue in the sky. He looked up, and his gaze crossed the black expanse overhead; he noticed the sparse grey shapes that decorated and made heavy circles round the full moon. A light drizzle still fell, but its presence was softer than the chinking sounds that came from Mikoto's handmade charms.

Itachi did not stop, and quietly Sasuke followed him to his own room. Had he really decided to take him out of the prison—end his punishment? Sasuke wanted to smile, but knowing his brother's games, he was not that foolish. When he stepped into his own chamber, he noticed that Yuu had left food here by the futon. He had left a chair by the hearth, too.

Sasuke did not look at him and sat down, quietly and slowly, in the chair. His bent his head, eyes upon the flames; he wanted to hide his gaze from him. He thought Itachi would leave, but he did not. He closed the door and stood by Sasuke's side—too close for comfort that he began to fear him again.

Moments passed in silence; coals popped in the hearth. He could even not hear wind's melodies anymore. At last, he felt Itachi's hand upon his head. It was a gentle touch, but it made gooseflesh appear on his skin. He wanted him gone . . .

Itachi did not say anything for so long. He just stroked his head. Had Sasuke been little, he would have known that a story was soon to follow these gestures; but this _now_ was no different, too. Sasuke knew Itachi had another story to tell—another lie to spill. In the past, such tales soothed his heart, but now they hurt him so much. He was such a good story-teller—he always was.

Itachi's fingers were akin to smooth legs of a spider in a child's dream—long and cold and deadly. Itachi brushed away the messy hair that lay over his cheek, and then he lifted Sasuke's chin that he was left with no choice to look up at him; and _still_ his brother's countenance had nothing to show, and _still_ he feared what lay in his heart. What stories festered in there? He wanted to know—he did not want to know. Such a child he was—his mind no less confused than he.

His gaze raked Sasuke's face, and he said nothing for a span of few torturous beats of his heart. "Look what you have done to yourself, you poor child," Itachi spoke after drawing a long breath, his voice soft, too soft in a way that it sounded almost artificial.

"I always tell you to listen, to obey, to follow, but you do as you please," he spoke in a languid, unhurried manner, as though secretly enjoying Sasuke's silence and defeat, a show of it apparent in the absence of his eyes' gaudy garments. "Such a mess, you child. Such a mess. Everyone is talking about what you have done. Everyone . . . your innocent mistake is a secret no more.

"You may hide it from me, but what will you do about this clan's tongues? If only you had listened, obeyed, behaved . . . but you so adore your games."

Sasuke's lashes began to tremble, and sweat formed copiously upon his brow and flowed into his eyes to make hazy Itachi's form that it truly felt as though he had been blind-folded for a game, with a soft garment, so that he could see and not see things at the same time. He could only see his brother's lips, not his eyes. A thick shadow streaked across the upper-half of his face, obscuring it completely from his vision; the lower half was so white in the light. He wore a mask—always; so Itachi could see him, but the shadows were in on this game and sided with his brother, and this unfair game made Sasuke fear him even more—they were playing hide and seek, and he could not see his eyes, he could not! What a cruel game—such a wicked older brother.

Storm spoke and wind answered, but its answer was weak, like his silence. Itachi took in another breath, his gaze poking into Sasuke's eyes like sinister mortal instruments. "A child's heart does what it wants, but it is the father who is left to bear the burden. The child cares not. Is it not true, you sweet child?" Itachi asked, and his voice whispered sweetly as though he spoke to him from a place he could not even see . . .

Sasuke said nothing, his brother's eyes pinned to the wall of his vision in a manner as if they were pointy objects that had found their marks at last—wriggling memories from his past. Wind's faint, sweet melody made it to his ears, but his brother's words were heavy enough to thwart their fragile paths—soft enough to float upon the air. "You will listen now. You will obey. You will do as I say." Itachi bent his head down and widened his eyes; his hair spilt around his whitest face like the blackest ink upon the canvas; and his face hardened so much and became dark and ghostly in the shadows.

"You will give this line an heir. You will take up this responsibility. You will relieve me of this duty. Do you understand?" Itachi asked, and it was another harsh command wrapped up in the honeyed-tone of his voice. Sasuke was shocked, and he did not have it in him to hide that shock.

"What? I—you can't do this! You—" Sasuke stopped; his words stopped; his tongue stopped; and he felt that the shurikens in Itachi's eyes had etched his heart with the painful taste of his present state: defeat, nothing but defeat.

"Hush," Itachi hissed this time, and the colour in his eyes became sharper still, like the swords he wielded to cut his foes down, but his own red did not flare up to battle him; red shivered in the burrow of his heart, afraid of him—so afraid. "Such a mess you have made, and you lash at me still?" Sasuke flinched at the sound of his voice, all his nerves jumping, signals gathering to pool at the small patch of skin on his jaw, which Itachi had nearly wounded with his nail when he hardened his grip.

Sasuke lowered his eyes; he wanted to hide; he wanted to leave. Itachi had ruined everything—he had ruined it all; but courage he possessed not to battle him—not now. "Look at me when I speak to you," Itachi commanded, his words sweet no longer, cutting and hissing like a Snake's, and Sasuke was forced to meet his dominating gaze when he had no desire to. "Do not hide your eyes from me. For when you hide your eyes, you play games with me, and _I_ —enjoy your games no longer.

"You will do this—without protest, without any show of your wild nature. Do not force me to direct my anger towards your companions, who have been such obedient participants in your games. It will just compel me to create a mess for you, and such a loss will fall upon your head, not mine."

Red just flowed out of Itachi's eyes, like malice from the abyss, throttling Sasuke's senses that he lost the awareness of the world about him: was this Genjutsu? He did not know. At last, Itachi's cruel grip on his jaw slackened, and he returned his hand to his head to stroke him with great affection again.

Itachi spoke no more, his hand busy in a manner as though he was quieting down a weeping child. Then he bent down, pressed a kiss to his head, and left the room; and the silence he had left behind this time was the most menacing one he had ever experienced; and he was a child no longer who feared the storm, but a man who did not have the luxury to press his head against his brother's bosom to forget _that_ fear . . .

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	63. Funerals are for the Living

**Chapter Sixty-Three** : Funerals are for the Living

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 _O' creeping cold winter's wind_

 _You have come from the sky red-rimmed_

 _In your lonely forest, what would the child find?_

 _Dried up rinds and thoughts with no mind._

Seasons grew stale like bread. With autumn, rot was but a sure companion. It went in, like a worm, ate to its fill and left a husk of things behind. It heralded winter, its colder brother, to come and end what it could not end, begin what it could not begin: an end, a True end.

Up in the sky, a red hue, still sweet like sake and deathly like his Clan's eyes, spread up from the dark protruding peaks. Trees, with garments yellow and red, adorned the lands: it was a time of mourning for the land, and, perhaps, for him as well. Light drizzle had descended, and the last lights came dim.

Somewhere, charms clinked, metals chinked, and rain tinkled against the sturdy roofs and cold stones. A smell, something like rot, flared around him and inside his nostrils. He was left with no choice but to take it _all_ in; and it got hold of his senses the way worms got hold of the gooey insides of fresh things.

It brought back memories of that evening that was just like this one: there was little difference between the glimpsing, sliding raindrops, which went into the wood in sluggish trails and rankled there, now beneath the lantern that shook and the flat chime of a dull rain then.

How was he to know what was in the heart of the woman who lay rotten in the grave? That fondness for her was gone, lost in the morphing sounds of metal on metal in that dilapidated temple. His heart, where rain festered, too, beat with an aching finality that he wanted not to know what she had whispered into this cold, cold place of sepulture his child so fondly called . . . his mother's grave.

His father was silent, too. He never spoke much when he was alive: he always felt there was a barrier between them that he would never be able to breach, and it was made wider, thicker still by his death. Now, his lonely abode, made out of stone and brick, was garnished by purple lilies the little child had planted. How they swayed and bounced, almost delighted at their deaths—morbid and silent to his ears, their songs.

If he pieced all of her scattered and fragile fragments together, he would get a dead toy soaking-wet in the autumn's rain, who had nothing to tell him now, nothing to tug at his heart and play it the way a delicate woman played a Koto—each string but a memory, each melody, another burden. It was best to leave her there, piece by piece, amongst the scattered stones, forgotten.

His father would speak no more. He could give him a tongue, yet that tongue would say nothing: silence was its eternal punishment; death truly was a cruel aggressor; however, dead men did not speak, did not sigh, did not voice their love, anger, passions . . . he sighed, eyes on the back of the child's head, who had grown quite a bit now. Just a bit . . .

A colder wind blew in his face, and his ears filled with the whimpers of the little boy. The little one had placed his face in the crook of his neck, his breath warm and moist, tears sticky: he had been crying since morning; funerals did that to the living, but a child's heart was so fragile to withstand such sorrows.

He pressed his hand against the back of Sasuke's head, steadying him, his other arm underneath his buttocks. He had wept himself to sleep; now, only a sniffle shook him from his slumber, but his small body was so tired that it could not be roused by the customary words of Man's mourning.

They came and they went, black blurs in his unfocused vision: he did not keep a track of their faces made murky by the swirls of incense. They had burnt so much of it here as an offering. He could not understand why. Autumn had already driven the scents of their dead skins into his nostrils, but what about the heart of the younger one? Sleep was not always a place of repose for Men, but of endless visitations from mad passions; and they had made a little home in Sasuke's heart, and he knew not the names of these men who would change his life forever . . .

Tanaka stretched his frail, shivering arm to its limit to raise the umbrella above Itachi's head. It was still raining: it was still cold. Voices, wriggling and sticky, went deep into his ears—more worms—but they did not stir his red to come out of its light sleep. The beast had had its fill of men and women. It was sated—this evening.

They bowed and left in pairs, young ones tottering behind, leaving marks of their wooden-sandals in the mud. Everything would be washed away come morning, all signs of their presence, and nothing would remain but the new gravestones. It was the best fate for lucky men: the rest rotted away in the forest and made the bellies of hungry crows' rounder.

The young girl by his side reached out her hand, like a toddler, to touch Sasuke's hair, but her eyes settled on his face instead. He still had not forgiven her for her misdeed—he never would. "Don't touch him," he spoke so coldly, and the sudden sound that spilt from his lips startled her. "You would wake him up, and then he would weep. Leave him alone. Go home."

He did not even look at her, and she bowed her head in a silent apology, her eyes stinging. "I'm sorry, Itachi-San. I was just—" she spoke, voice unsure, her heart whispering through her veins. Her voice hung in the hazy suspensions of autumn's melody, unseen and unheard by his cold heart that now grew deadly in the grasp of winter's forlorn hands: the child felt the beginnings of its maturation and let out an audible whimper he had not released in hours.

"Come, Izumi," her mother spoke and pulled her away, and all she could do was watch his whitest face in the greyest mist of autumn and say nothing. Words wriggled in her breast, but she did not possess an older tongue to reveal her passions. She walked away, and he asked Tanaka to leave, too. He protested that Sasuke would catch a cold without the umbrella, but Itachi told him that the tree leaning above their head was still lush—it stopped most of the rain from reaching them.

The older man mumbled some more, but he bowed before the future heir and left in silence. His sandals squelched in the mud, and after a few moments, he could hear nothing of his presence. He was alone at last, left at wind's mercy and his own thoughts that were without a mind this time.

Wind whispered through the dry leaves, but his thoughts had become quiet men in the forest of graves; and he had etched their names with his sword, ended destinies without his words. All had ended and begun with him. There was nothing more to say here; he did not even say a word of farewell: the dead never listened.

Itachi turned and walked away, with Sasuke still sleeping in his arms. The child's eyes still hurt, but Itachi had tied a piece of soft cloth around his eyes to lessen the pain—the ache of loss. The young eyes had blossomed to become a burden that was bound to a slow progress towards the limbs of dark. Itachi would uphold his father's request: it would be a final favour for a dead man. He had severed the threads, and he felt that that was a just course of his life.

Now he walked against the wind, smelling and listening to his dead kin's temptations, but he remained firm and walked away from the graves that were numerous teeth in the mist; but when he approached his home, Sasuke's embrace tightened around his neck, and his small nails bit into his flesh and left red lines in their wake as though he was admonishing him for treading towards such a cursed abode.

Itachi stopped and caressed Sasuke's head: Sasuke spoke nothing for a few moments when the wind's voice was strongest; then he whispered, like in a dream: "I don't wanna go home . . . " after that, he fell silent again, his breaths steady against Itachi's ear.

"Where do you want to go?" Itachi asked and patted Sasuke's head, and then his back; but Sasuke said nothing. He was quiet again, and all Itachi could hear were the soft sounds of his breaths. He realized that Sasuke really did not want to say anything to him, so he started walking to the lake.

It was getting dark, and the sky had lost the garish garment it wore as a temptation; he had chosen to forget it all for tonight. From amidst the mist came Nomura, who was of dignified bearing but reeked of incense tonight: Itachi avoided his eyes as he passed by him, his garments light and magnificent in the white light. Itachi heard him stop by the deity statue but did not stop himself. He kept walking further and further away from the bounds of the quiet village, eastbound towards the lake.

He saw people come out of their homes to put out the lanterns, and for a few moments, light spilt out of the gaps and yellow-dusted wreaths of mist floated in the air about him. Cold soaked through the exposed skin—his fingers had almost gone numb. It hurt to walk without an aim towards the forest, which was just a place of dark and silence at night.

Trees stood close together, wrapped tightly in airy and grey cloaks. They absorbed and muffled the stray sounds that came from the village and the lake. It was quiet tonight, so quiet, as though vengeful specters had followed him from the graveyard to hound the sounds that came from the forest, to drive them away into deep burrows in fear.

Dry leaves crunched beneath his feet. The foliage was thick here—rain had failed to leave its mark upon this ground. As he approached the silver floating into the dark and leafy mouth of the forest, the voices of the wind and trees and the lake returned—with caution. So soft, like a mother's lips, were their caresses that he felt as if his long journey had come to an end.

There he stood at the edge of the pebbled-shore, where moonlight peeked over the pinnacled peaks and lay down, silent, upon the dark visage of the lake. He then sighed at last, the tremble in his lips betraying the control he practiced: Sasuke was so small, a babe in his arms, sleeping.

Sasuke had not let out a whimper all this time. His tears had stopped, and the chakra that flowed from Itachi's fingers into the small body made sure that he was not cold. He turned away from the dark and silver splendor and sat down by a tree; then he placed the child in his lap, who burrowed his face into his belly the way a little cub would in search of his mother's teat. Lilies covered the ground here, and a rabble of moths surrounded them like mad dervishes.

Itachi removed the cloth, which was tied around Sasuke's eyes, and placed his hand upon his head; he breathed in deeply and fisted Itachi's haori into his tiny hand, thinking that it was Mikoto's breast: death had not parted him from his mother—yet. Itachi emitted a deep breath that lingered before his face. Sasuke often slept through stormy nights by pressing his face into Mikoto's breast: he lay between his parents, but Mikoto was more attuned to her child's needs.

 _Would I have to be like Oka-San_ , he thought as his gaze lingered on Sasuke's plump cheek; however, what did it mean to be like Mikoto? She was but a toy in his memory—its pieces were chipping away into the dark in his mind, and he did not have the love to re-collect them again. _Let her vanish_ , he thought; _let her disappear_ , he wished; _let her scatter_ , he mused. How true these words would be when he would bloom into a cold man: even he was too young for such a Truth.

At last, Sasuke stirred in his lap, and his eyes transfixed upon his, his expression too subtle for a boy so, so little. Itachi cupped a hand against Sasuke's warm, soft cheek, a mother's gesture; he was changing into Mikoto already. "Sasuke," he spoke in a voice moulded by the budding mother in him, "I brought you to the lake. Look how pretty the lilies look. See?" Itachi pointed to the lake where fireflies blinked about the purple silhouettes that danced, like faeries, before the curtain of mist and peaks—such a show for their eyes.

Sasuke's eyes followed the movement of his hand. He got up, his face changed just a bit, and pink mounted to the round cheeks. He ran off towards the lake, whose face was covered with smooth combers racing to the shore: wind whispered sweetly now. Itachi got to his feet, a little anxious. "Sasuke, don't go too far," he spoke now in the voice of a worried brother and followed him.

Sasuke smiled when he picked him up into his arms again and walked upon the water: the little one had imprisoned a moth between his cupped hands, in his innocent forgetfulness. He pulled his hands apart, and it flew out and landed on Itachi's cheek and stayed there for a few moments; then it floated away in the wind. Mist overspread the peaks, the earth, and his memories, and embroiled him in such deep obscurity—all he could remember now were the fireflies that glowed by Sasuke's cheeks as he stood upon the pebbled-shore, with a quiet cluster of Higanbanas by his feet, as if going so far away from him . . .

Now his shadow was next to Sasuke's on the wet stones, black men sprouting and spilling out of the crevices. Sasuke had grown too big for Itachi to carry him into his arms. Itachi had more of his father in him now, so much of him. His whispers that day had suffused Itachi's spirit with a different colour.

He watched, with eyes steeped in indifference, as Sasuke poured water upon the gravestones. He did not understand the child: rain had done its duty. Was this even necessary? It was not as if Sasuke would listen if he said anything, so he married and courted silence and kept his words to himself. He pretended not to hear anything when Sasuke grumbled a complaint under his breath: Sasuke wanted to be left alone in peace, but Itachi had little patience for his promises of vengeance to the dead—privacy be damned!

Sasuke bowed his head to the stones, dirtying his face, but it did not seem that he cared enough for appearances in these moments. Fog was getting thicker and a rotten smell of flora stabbed Itachi's nose as the wind grew cold and colder. The sky was so dark, and the moon had gone behind the thinnest clouds that hovered over the graveyard. His patience had reached its limit.

"You have said your farewells. Come," Itachi said, and his words felt colder than the fog as it touched Sasuke's cheeks.

Sasuke rose to his feet and looked at him, his countenance hard, though his wild nature was kept at bay in the wake of Itachi's punishments. The lantern Sasuke held in his hand barely gave off enough light to illuminate Itachi's face that appeared whiter than the whitest masks he had seen on Kabuki actors'; and the sight of it frightened his heart.

A tremble crossed Itachi lips, at the sight of a brown smudge that graced Sasuke's pale forehead, but it developed into nothing more than a hazy smile. "You are still no older than a child," Itachi said and wiped away the smudge from Sasuke's forehead. A shadow of a frown appeared in Sasuke's brow: he did not like Itachi's remark.

"Must you always grow angry at the foot of their graves?" Itachi asked, and this time, his tone was less patient, less soft.

Sasuke considered him for a moment, and red almost mantled his eyes before the barrier of tricks halted its fierce path. "Funerals aren't for the dead—they're for the living," Sasuke rasped, his anger bubbling in his throat now, light limning the subtle contortions of his features, "it's not as if _you_ would understand." Then he walked away with the light, leaving his brother in the dark with eyes that glowed red.

Fog had become dense and involved his home in obscurity. The air was smooth and cold, and the lantern, in the quiet garden, glowed a dull yellow; within the shimmering fog were the distorted outlines of dew-laden trees. A crow, with eyes red, had found a perch on the wet roof: it was staring down at him, with eyes too human, and he resented his wicked brother even more at that moment. Fog dispersed by his feet as he approached the door and mumbled "damn bird!" under his breath.

The crow had such a keen sight that it saw what he had spoken in anger and began cawing in indignation. Sasuke paid it no mind and shut the door behind himself—a bit sharply. He did not want to face Itachi at this hour, so he made his way to his own room, with the lantern in hand, step by creaking step: the wood often got a bit creaky after the rains.

When he opened his chamber's door, in his usual agitated fashion, he found a girl, of adolescent age, sitting on the futon— _his_ futon. He could barely discern her features in the dim light the lantern exuded. She bowed to him and spoke, in a voice so young, "Sasuke-Sama, I'm Kiku—it's a pleasure to meet you."

Sasuke's frown disappeared for a moment, only to return after a few beats. His anger rose, but he beat it down with vengeance. He put down the lantern upon the wooden floor and watched as the light spilt towards her garments to caress the fine edges made of silk—they had made sure she looked her best before he unwrapped her for mating.

"Out," Sasuke spoke, his voice rough in his throat. When she did not stir, he looked to her, with gathered energy in his wrathful eyes. The pink powder, which dusted her round cheeks, nearly lost its colour at the sight of him: he looked so full of anger that she wanted to fly out of his room now.

She rose to her feet, made a quick bow, and raced out of the chamber, her long, long sleeves fluttering after her like wings. He did not turn to gaze at her back and closed the door; then he bent down and put out the lantern, as if to deliberately spread darkness everywhere.

Sasuke was exhausted. This was not how he had imagined this to turn out. Everything was a mess—everything; and his brother was at the heart of this evil chaos. He sat down upon his futon with a deep sigh, expecting more punishment at his brother's hands.

A puff of cool wind, and a tremble in his skin, announced Itachi's arrival. Red raced to fill Sasuke's vision, as though in wait to prepare him for an assault on his senses and pride. Sasuke saw Itachi through the door, all cold and immaculate and regal in bearing, as he approached his chamber's door; then he stopped to talk to the distressed girl.

She said something Sasuke could not hear. Itachi merely nodded towards another door (which led to a guestroom), and she left in silence after she dipped a small curtsy; however, much to his horror, Itachi did not leave. His dark eyes, now red, looked _right_ at him through the barrier of the wooden door that offered him no security.

For a moment, Sasuke's heart forgot to beat—his lungs forgot their natural mechanisms. Red glimmered and went out in his eyes with fear, like a lantern's flame, but he firmed his chin to quell it from spilling over his face, as a show of his present state of mind.

Itachi said nothing; he made no motion towards him; it was as though he was admonishing him to behave himself before he lost his patience again; however, somewhere in Itachi's cold, cold heart, his kin's whispers had dealt a blow and softened it for just _this_ night.

Red faded and became a darker shade in his brother's eyes, and to Sasuke's immense relief, he went away without hounding him this time. Sasuke's breathing returned, and the sound of his quiet heart retired to the obscurity of a steady routine. He reached up and wiped sweat from his face—and then he waited . . .

Itachi's chamber was warm—Tanaka's grandson was diligent and dutiful. He did as he was told and asked no questions. He was thinking of sending Tanaka away for good: he was an old man who deserved his rest, after all. He had spent three generations with his family, and it was time to let go.

A deep sigh came from Itachi's breast. He had no intention to linger before Sasuke's door in such a manner, but the little one was truly testing his patience. He had upheld his end of the bargain, so now it was the child's turn to uphold his. A frown crossed his brow, but he did not let it stay there, like a shadow it sped away from the light of the fire.

He had allowed Sasuke this act of disobedience tonight: if the younger one was being obdurate, then the older one would have to be patient; he was his father; he would also have to endure . . . how much had his own father endured? He did not think much of it and settled down by the small table. The servant had left tea there.

He had taken his fair-share of that purple concoction today, before he took Sasuke to the graveyard, so his heart's shadow was brimming full with the taste of forbidden slips into terrible mental states. He had thought night to be the right time for such temptations, but consuming it within the confines of his own home felt . . . liberating in all the wrong ways.

Itachi put the cup to his lips, took a few sips, and set it back down. It was chamomile tea, and he usually took it before he retired for the night. The servant had sweetened it well, just the way he enjoyed it! At that precise moment, he heard a strong whirring sound in the air—it seemed to originate from everywhere! His senses took a long flight and reached a place in the sky he usually reached with the poison of moths.

Surprising his curious state was. Itachi did not know what to make of it. The venom rarely clawed back up to tie his senses in an unsolvable tangle. His condition was the same: quickness of beats; a rise in pain and pleasure; expelling of sweat; dangerous flight of vision; an exquisite burning in his loins, which demanded the softer touch from a temptress; colours, so much and so many of them—everything was the same; however, the confines were not. He had to bank these passions with a closed door.

He had just decided upon this decision, with great conviction, when he heard a rustle of the silly girl's expensive apparel, and her heavy scent (made from Kami knew which flowers) was right at her heels. She mumbled something he could not understand.

"Leave," Itachi barely managed between controlled breaths—his body was in a state of so much pain, and that terrible arousal was beginning to blossom between his thighs, with immaculate ferociousness; and this girl was too . . . naïve and soft to bear _his_ burdens if he got hold of her tonight; she would surely regret creating those innocent desires, which involved him and a futon and a lot of lovely sighing. His Sharingan, to his relief, always rose to say what his tongue could not say, and at the sight of that red in that dark face (obscured by shadows), she left his room—utterly crestfallen.

He did not know when he rose to his shaky feet, but he did not get very far: a black ocean expanded in his vision, and he felt no pain when his face met the wooden floor . . .

Itachi woke up to morning whose lights and sounds came dim through the paper-screen and gaps around the sliding door and window. He could hear a faint melody from the throat of a little hawk, also. He lay prone beneath the kakebuton, a habit he had never developed. Night was gone, took away all the quiet and all the dull noise, and so were his burdens; he had only experienced the afterglow of the moth's poison that had made a final, desperate attempt to rush through his system. He made peace with that. His gaze travelled across the room to meet Rao's eyes—he was truly surprised that she had managed to drag him to the futon, in her age, all by herself!

He took a bath in the onsen and changed his Anbu attire, which smelt of sweat and a sweet odour that he had exuded as an aftereffect of the concoction, for a fresher one. Rao had opened the sliding door to the garden. Clouds rolled out, and the sheen of foliage was dazzling.

"You smelt like a moth last night," Rao said, and a smile tugged at the corner of her aged mouth.

Itachi looked out upon the sun-soaked garden—the breeze blew soft against his face. The horizon had just discarded the red hue of freshness: it was still early morning.

"You should not have burdened yourself," Itachi said and dipped a brush into a pot of black ink; he had to finish this letter last night—this matter had truly become a nuisance.

Rao gathered her face into a more pronounced smile, and from his perch, the skin around her lips gave the impression of a rough texture of an old tree trunk. "I only combed your hair and pressed a damp cloth to your hot skin—you mumbled strange things, little darling," she said and took a mouthful of her morning tea.

Itachi completed the letter upon the scroll and dipped the brush back into the pot of ink. He did not to answer her, and though her confession was most strange, he chose not to think much of it. As he rolled up the scroll, he watched as the little hawk sang in the garden again, only to fly away towards the hillocks clothed with trees that still wore autumn colours. This was the fourth trip it had made in the past hour. Sasuke . . .

He could not help but frown at the child's persistence to keep playing games. He put the scroll aside, his mind bent on Sasuke, and picked up the small cup. An irritated expression was most pronounced, in the light, upon his countenance now. Small cardamom seeds floated on the surface of the hot liquid: he drank this tea often to cool the fires in his veins.

"You are not stern with him, but you grow angry when he does not obey—make up your mind, child," Rao said, still smiling sweetly. "He did not even look at the girl you forced upon him. Why make him carry such a burden?"

"I do not wish to bend the branch so much that it may break," Itachi said and placed the cup back down upon the table. "He will obey—you need not worry. How long do you suppose a boy his age would resist a willing, pretty girl in his chamber? Let nature take its course. You worry yourself without a reason."

Rao pressed her fingers to her lips and let out a muffled laugh. Her grandson amused her often, so devious to win this sibling rivalry. She watched as he noticed the return of the bird again, with a frown in his brow. He got up and left the chamber without a word.

Sasuke was feeding Kirin, unhappy that it had brought back nothing of value from the forest, when Itachi snatched it from his hand. Startled that his senses had dulled so much that he did not even hear his brother come, he stepped away from the window. In the light, Itachi's face had an expression he could not place. His eyes went with the motion of Itachi's hand: Kirin's sharp beak had pierced his forefinger, and it dripped with blood, though he had not let go.

Anger snared Sasuke's spirit and became apparent on his face—Itachi was just behaving like a bully now. "Are you taking my bird away because I didn't mate with that tart? You're behaving like a child," Sasuke said in a heavy voice, and his face split into a cold smile. His words had no affect on Itachi's demeanour, whose long fingers clamped the small throat of the bird—Sasuke's heart caught in his throat, but the anger did not go away. There was only an overload of that emotion as it landed in his eyes like an arrow that had found its mark.

"Either you learn to live without it or it accepts to fly without you. I suggest you make your peace with one or the other," Itachi said, expression strange, tone empty. "If I catch you sending it out again to fetch _little_ things that cause me nothing but distress, I will twist its neck and that will be the end of it."

"You—" Sasuke breathed out but spoke no more, as the expression changed so subtly upon his brother's face into something sinister.

Itachi turned around and walked away from him, but he stopped at the door and spoke: "I find it most amusing how you have become so choosy all of sudden—when it was not so till last night. The dead truly whisper strange things to you." Then he left in silence, but his words had wounded Sasuke's heart beyond measure . . .

# # # # # #

Hinata was a little afraid to approach the Head's manor: Itachi truly frightened her. She had been vigilant enough to stay away when he was still in the Uchiha Village, but the Chūnin-application scroll in her hand needed a new signature from Sasuke. She would not be able to progress without his approval . . . and he had sent a letter in the morning, so it was all right.

So she had waited, like a patient girl, by the lake, her eyes upon the shapeless flux of clear water. She watched as a white flower, camellia, floated upon the tide on the ebb, churning softly outwards to meet with the outer body of the lake. The flower caught the lip of a small vortex and was sucked down—she could see it no more.

Cool breeze rushed in towards her, and her loose kimono filled. It was no use standing around now: Itachi had left. She clutched the scroll tightly to her breast and made her way to the manor, with a brisk walk. The pathway to the road was slick, and wild plants had invaded the crevices in the stones.

The manor was quiet when she stopped by the gate. She looked over her shoulder, and her heart did a quick _thump-thump_ when she noticed a crow watching her with a thoughtful demeanour—it sat way up in the tree. Its eyes burnt red: it was Itachi's! Reason flew out of her mind, and she gave a quick bow before it. "I-I'm just here for my scroll—I'll leave in a minute," Hinata said, flustered. She did not know whether it had heard her or not . . .

Hinata spun away from the tree, still anxious, and made her way through the gate. An aged servant sat by the well; he was drawing water. He smiled when he saw her, narrowing his eyes to get at better look at her; his sight failed him in such an old age. He told her that Sasuke was in the back-garden, and that she was not to bother him as Itachi had forbidden it. She assured him that she would not.

So she went round, looking at the trees that circled the manor like a soft wreath. There he stood by the tree, gazing down at slips of fish in the clear water by his feet. A lantern glowed orange beside him. He turned a bit when he heard her come near upon the sodden grass.

Sasuke exhibited a season of rude health, with his too-white face and weak eyes, but the sight of him always tied her girlish heart in tangles. A wet streak of rain iced his dark hair that framed his fine face. His expression suggested little of what went in his heart: he imitated his brother well!

Hinata stopped in her steps, red suffusing her cheeks. When he did not say anything, she thought it wise to speak: "I-I came for this." She showed him the scroll.

"Is that all?" Sasuke asked, his voice still so soft to her ears, and took the scroll from her hand. She lowered her head and said nothing.

Sasuke dug out a wooden pen from his pocket; its tip was wet with ink. It was as though he had been expecting her. He unrolled the scroll, signed the corner, and rolled it back up; and this time, he smiled a little.

"Did you come alone?" Sasuke asked and held out the scroll for her. She took it from his hand and nodded.

He looked strange, ill. His collar was open at his throat, and she could see sweat gather at the soft flesh where his neck curved into his shoulder, despite the cold air. Was he feverish? She wanted to ask, but he was quick to break into her thoughts: "I think the culprit who killed the prisoner is in our team—he followed you."

"How do you—" Hinata tried to say, but she was immediately cut short.

"Try your Byakugan on your body, and see if you can locate a small wood-pellet," Sasuke said, and she watched a wild expression melt into something more subtle in his eyes. She did not know what he was talking about, but she did as he asked of her; and lo and behold, she saw one sticking to the fabric over her breast, beneath the wrinkle in her kimono.

Hinata picked it up between her thumb and forefinger. It was so small. Sasuke took it from her and looked at it, his smile widening in a terrifying manner. "Did you bump into Sakura this morning?" he asked, eyes transfixed upon the small thing as though it held the answers to his worries.

"Yes, but—" Hinata stopped. She did not know what had come over him, but he appeared happy in a crazed sort of way.

Sasuke shoved the pellet into his pocket and whistled. Within a few moments, a white hawk, a bit larger than Kirin, flew down from the tree branches above him, to land upon his arm. His eyes glowed red for a moment, and the bird, mesmerized by the sight of them, stretched its neck taut.

"Take it—it won't peck you," Sasuke said, with an urgency coming into his voice, "let it fly when you see my brother approach the village."

Colour drained from Hinata's face. What was he asking her to do? "Sasuke-Sama, I—" she tried to protest, heart going berserk in terrifying leaps.

"Don't be frightened. I'm doing this for your father's honour," he assured, and she took the bird from him, with trembling hands. "You can leave after you set it free . . . "

There was a flickering of Sasuke's image before he vanished. Hinata petted the head of the bird in her hand—it was so quiet, as though it had been put under an illusion . . . with her Byakugan, she focused all of her vision upon the verges of the village, looking out for Itachi's chakra, which was as cold as it was ferocious!

Sasuke's heart was a beast, impatient to be let out of its mortal cage. He had never been so afraid, but it had to be done—it had to be done! Wind greeted him with a cold embrace when he reached the Naka-shrine. He passed through the _torii_ gate, with a heavy heart, and listened to the chinks and clinks of the charms his mother had left there: whispers of the dead lingered beyond the grave—his brother was just deaf to their sounds!

He stepped into the hall, which was filled with a quiet noise in the absence of men. Shadows lay, like slack garments, upon the wood, and he had to fall back on the surety of his vision to make his way to the stone. The dead-eye in the stone responded to his pulsing one, and the stone moved to let him through.

It was dark here, and the stairs were submerged in a pool of shadows that did not part as he descended down the steps—barefooted. A cold shiver raced up from the underside of his foot, stabbing his excited senses, when he made it to the secret room at last. The stone-work beneath his feet was bathed in autumn's cold—winter would make the stones colder still.

His _Dōjutsu_ could read the glowing letters etched into the wood-work that was booby-trapped. He hauled out a small phial of blood from his pocket and pulled out the stopper with his teeth. It only had a few drops of blood—enough to soak the tip of his forefinger. He did just that and touched the Uchiha symbol that glowed with the chakra of his brother. The mechanism moved, and the heavy sliding door came loose.

Sasuke slid it open and gazed upon the _Kinjutsu_ scrolls that filled the cabinet. He looked for the tailed-beasts' symbol he needed and smiled when he noticed that his eyes could read all of the symbols his brother was blind to—blind to his clan's sorrows and deaf to their pleas!

There was just one scroll he needed. He took it out, unrolled it, and made a few quick hand-seals to summon a blank one. He did not have time to read—a song was swelling towards him, and his breaths came out quick and short in reaction. When all of the words filled the blank scroll, he sent it away, and put the other one exactly where he had found it.

Then he closed the sliding door and watched as the mechanism worked all on its own to protect the scrolls from any intruder. He wiped away the blood with his long black-sleeve and rushed out of the shrine. The wind's embrace was even colder this time . . .

Hinata had set it free as he had asked, but Itachi's chakra was still suffocating the life out of her. She walked slowly on the pathway that led out of the village from the back of the manor. Wind's voice was cold as the night approached fast, tainting the sky with a purple hue, like lilies. She bent her head, walking against the wind in a manner as though she was a boat, on rough waters, about to heel over under the storm's wind.

Trees' shadows grew thick about her, and she felt so tiny, walking amidst the heavy sense of isolation this place created: there was no one around but the large sacred stones that stood guard where the village ended. Wind shushed and hushed her thoughts, which ran without an aim in her mind—she just wanted to leave the village!

She bent her head when the distance between them grew short, his chakra leeching off her spirit. She expected him to pass by her, but she was mistaken. "Why are you here?" Itachi asked, and his voice sounded as sinister to her ears as it had all those moons past.

Hinata was left with no choice but to halt her steps and bow. "I was here to get my application signed, I-Itachi-Sama," she said, her voice barely lending any tone to her words.

Itachi gazed up at the sky, as though he was lost in thought. His coal-black hair whipped about his face in the wind. From where she stood, he looked no different from Sasuke, as he stood before the valley that stretched behind his back and merged into the forest.

"Did _you_ let the bird loose?" he asked, and his voice pierced her heart like a lethal sword. Then his eyes met hers, and the daemonic fire in them made her know fear. He could slit her throat here, and no one would know of her fate.

"N-No, Itachi-Sama, I—"

"Do not lie to me," Itachi said, his voice shaper than the wind, softer than the lake's waters. "Did Sasuke ask of you to do this?"

"Itachi-Sama, I—" Hinata stopped, tears scalding her throat and burning her cheeks. She did not know what to do. She did not have the heart to tell on Sasuke: he had done so much for her; however, she lacked the courage to fight this wicked one.

"Now why would the wild child ask of you to do such a _little_ thing?" he asked and stepped a little closer, his eyes burning fiercely in the evening's last light; and all Hinata could do was weep . . .

"Look at me when I speak to you," Itachi said, and everything went silent at his command: wind stopped and so had the night that could not finish enveloping the hues in the sky. When her eyes met his, he plumbed the shallow depths of her mind's water, going in deep to pin down the elusive fish that tried to slip away from the aim of his swords. In that small moment, he had caught everything—everything!

A deep breath returned the air to Hinata's lungs, but she sank down to her knees, her nerves on fire, smoking hot after his assault. She lifted her head to gaze upon the slight tremble in his lips, hidden by the mixture of wind and mist as it went across his face. His eyes—she had never seen them so red, so deadly; and red tears went down her cheeks in apology. She had nothing more to say to him. He had stripped her naked. She was done . . .

"How dare you—do this when I told you to leave him be?" Itachi spoke, and in the darkness where he stood, it felt as though a statue carved out of coal was speaking to her.

Hinata had no words to speak: she was frightened beyond measure. Sun had gone down; trees trembled to the wind; but the never-changing aspect of his countenance defied reason. The last light had descended to illuminate his face, and she wished it had not, for his face was crafted—to perfection—out of stone and decorated with the intricate pattern of his Mangekyō, and there was nothing else to soften its surface . . .

"You are dismissed from your duty—permanently," Itachi said, without any emotion in his voice. "Get out of my sight." Then he left the girl weeping by the tree, who was buried under the weight of so many shadows now.

Itachi had a lingering suspicion as to what Sasuke had done, but it was wise to retrace his steps, regardless; so he went to the shrine and felt as though the stagnant air had been disturbed by the child's quick motions. What worried him, however, was the wound in his forefinger: it was made with a small and sharp needle. He had noticed the small red wound in the morning but did not make much of it.

He went home, knowing that Sasuke must have gone to his room to feign innocence. Tanaka told him about the girl, but he did not say anything to him. He was an old man who did not deserve his anger. The kitchen was empty, but he knew where Tanaka kept the sugar. He sniffed at the small container made out of clay, and it smelt of berries.

Anger sparked his Sharingan, to appear as a soundless specter in his eyes. Wordlessly, he went to Sasuke's room, who looked at him from the shadows as though he had done nothing at all. Itachi did not scold him: he just grabbed him by the arm, dragged him down to the prison-room, and locked him up again. He would make sure that Karin would feel remorse for her games . . .

When Itachi went away, a smile came to Sasuke's face, all sluggish like a worm to bite at the freshness of youth in his lips. His brother would soon know how difficult it would be to throw Hinata out, without Tsunade's consent. Still smiling, like a child who had won a game, he sat down and summoned the scroll. It appeared by his feet, and when he unrolled it, the words made him laugh: so the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan _was_ needed to control the Demon-Fox, after all!

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	64. Madness was just a Doorstep Away

**Chapter Sixty-Four** : Madness was just a Doorstep Away

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His palm eased across the plump skin of her buttocks. She was young, too young, in a manner that she possessed a dimpled flesh on her thighs and abdomen. Her breasts, milky white, were small, with peach nipples pebbled in anticipation and uncertainty.

Blush surged upwards and scorched patches of her skin, as though hungry spring gnats had bitten her all over; and he had only _just_ been driven curious by this terrible isolation. Unwrapped her he had to gaze upon her flesh, and a rasp of her red obi under his fingertips, which contrasted well with her smooth thighs, thrilled his loins.

They had sluiced her down with sweet waters mixed with essences of sandalwood and something foreign his nose could not register: a lake lily? He held his nose close and took a generous whiff again, and her hot body's vaporus floated up his nostrils in a manner as if his senses had been caressed by airy plumes of grey night birds.

His cock throbbed at the grassy scent, in need, oozing out liquid at the heavy head. In the soft light of the fire, he saw as more sweat quivered and mapped her skin, and how his own body's moisture deposited droplets upon her breasts, her dimply abdomen, and her plump pink lips. Her eyes tinged with such an innocent craving her flesh demanded . . . now.

He would spend a night abed with her if that was what it took to calm his wicked older brother, and put his own daemons to sleep—for just a little while; so, with such a determination in mind, he pulled away the sheath that covered her genitals and stroked down the soft thighs spread to either side, his fingers yawning open the sweat-sodden, swollen fleshes of her sex.

He saw the moist crevice part between her lips at his touch and reveal such strange combinations of colours: ripe red outside and soft pink in the slick depths, purple fleshes plastering themselves to cleave to his fingers as if they belonged there. A delicate veil hung taut before her passage, which prevented further progress of his fingers.

She was just an odd thing, a young thing, and his hands luxuriated in the feel of her form. Black hairs scraped against his palm, but they were not coarse; she had not yet ripened to a state of womanhood: still a girl she was. The heat of her sex radiated against his slick palm, and the pink whorl of her anus, glistening with the exertions of her body's natural state, twitched.

When he pulled his hand back, a string of her arousal clung to his fingers, telling him of her readiness to take him in. There was nothing more to be done. He leant in close and allowed her to feel his hard erection through the fabric of his pants. He saw a colourless mass of fear spread in her eyes like water; however, she did not protest. After all, she had come here to lay beneath him, all pliant and pretty, and give him a son.

Without giving the matter any more thought, he laid his body over hers, worked himself loose, and pressed the heavy head of his cock against her slick lips. She twitched a little beneath him and wedged her nose in the crook of her fleshy elbow, as though she had no desire to see him now. It was easy to agree to play, but it was hard to engage in the act itself. All for the better! He did not care.

His hips surged forward, with a snap, and his cock sank into the liquid-heat of her cunt. Her body sang, first with the expelling of red from her cunt, and then with uproarious trembles and uncontrollable outpours of sweat; and soft mewls escaped from her throat, which were muzzled by her control. He struggled to keep his thrusts slow and shallow, but it was an insurmountable task, for she was tight, so tight, and he felt such bliss from their conjoining.

She just lay there as he pumped between her splayed thighs. Ornamental pins fell out of her hairs, which were left in rough tangles. Sweat streaked sliver her pretty hair (in the pouring light) and formed on the edges of her sweet lips, as though they were smooth seashores studded with flowers that possessed the most pretty pink hues. Then she clutched at him, pressing her pink mouth into a hard line, but she was a young girl still. She did not possess the control to halt her desires.

Her soft eyes, which lacked the shade of years, opened wide; and she looked deep into his red, searching, searching . . . for something soft to sway her heart; but the dark red, spreading like a forlorn motion of blood from a wound, crashed onto the frail rocks of her senses, fracturing them, going in deep—like his cock.

The sensation, a prickling and worming one, shivered in her, and at last, her mouth parted, and she let loose such innocent mewls; however, the young, wild Uchiha had his mind elsewhere, away from the pearly web of desires his body had so methodically spun to catch a prey: gratification. His gaze crossed the dim room, dotted over with pearlescent particles of dust that floated in the dull light-beams, and rested upon the letter that lay on his small table; and his hips contracted in uncontrollable spasms, and he moved roughly between her damp, clutching thighs with a new vigour.

Violent spasms overtook his body, and a delightful feeling of liberation surged from his heart and galloped across the length of him, unchecked and un-reined, freeing him; he did not stop and filled her vessel with his fluids and his chakra. When the lunging spasms subsided, his breaths calmed. He pulled away from the girl and watched, with a disgusted look apparent upon his countenance, as his essence flowed out of her cleft . . . vulgar—this defeat, so vulgar . . .

For three nights she came to him, and for three nights he took her to bed, without protest. Sweet, bottomless moans escaped from inside her in this prison, which his brother so coldly referred to as his "sweet child's chamber". She was delighted every night to mate with him, face all lit up and eager, lips covered in drops of berries' juice. At least, he had something to indulge himself with, even if it was a foolish little girl.

And on the third night, he felt something of him in her womb: a germinating seed with chakra strong that would grow into a boy from a shapeless leech, which would feed upon her life-force and suck her dry with mouth hungry. He doubted that she would survive the birth of his child . . . she smiled at him, red lips and redder cheeks dusted with drops that appeared like morning dew in the soft light.

He felt a little guilty, so he told her that this unformed blob would exude a crushing chakra her womb was never meant to carry; but she laughed a girly laugh and told him that she was taking herbs to strengthen her chakra and body; so he need not worry for her sake. Rain fell outside in the dark, and he sensed the air turn heavy with earth's and grass's melding scents. Inside, she sat in the dull light, all innocent and little, and he did not have the words upon his tongue to speak anymore.

Silence—red had never come out to sheath his eyes. His ears glutted with a blend of confusing sounds and music that came to him from the garden: water slapped against the stone-path and shivered pebbles fell down from the statue that lay broken by the tree his grandmother had planted. It was old like this place . . . so old.

She rose to her feet, a little ungainly in her motions, smiled, and did a curtsey; and very firmly and properly, in a lady-like manner, took hold of her kimono. Then she bent down a little and cupped a small hand to her mouth, a smile going across her lips in soft haste, and whispered: "will you allow me to come to you again?"

He just looked to her, surprised—so young and foolish to be enamoured by the acts of passions. Besotted with drinks of lust, she stood before him now, all young and girl-like, clothed in deep red; and he did not have the strength left in him to watch her squirm and mewl, like a little cub, beneath him again for even one more night.

He bent his head down, indecisive, and her face fell in dismay (a child's expression), and the hue had but vanished from her plump cheeks. When he did not reply in the coming moments, fleeting as they were, her lips became all pouty and red, and a frown disturbed her smooth brow, and an unhappy expression rested upon her countenance.

She straightened with a start when a knock came upon the door, and she heard the vexed voice of the red-haired woman in the corridor outside. Kiku did not understand why an heir's son would keep such a cheap company; however, it was not her place to ask.

So little Kiku turned around, cast one last look upon him, as he sat with his head bowed in the shadow, and left the room, silent as a little flower. Kiku heard the vulgar woman mumble something behind her, but she turned up her nose at her uncultured antics: _once a harlot, always a harlot!_ That was what her mother had taught her, and she was a lady who would bear Sasuke a son. With such a thought in mind, she exited the place she did not know was a prison for the uncultured.

"Little bitch!" Karin hissed and closed the door, trapping the rain's sounds on the other side. Her gaze fell upon Sasuke, but the sight of him did not cool her rising temper.

"You filled up her little cunt nice and good," she said, and her voice was harsh enough to be heard in the melodies of wind and rain and trees.

Sasuke raised his head slightly; his face turned hard, and his eyes narrowed some more, dangerous in the light despite being unlit by his clan's fires. "Quiet! I'm not in the mood," he rasped, and the subsequent silence bathed the room in its cold essence. Then a special fragrance of flora filled the room, and, as if its presence had dulled her irritation, her expression changed to something more soft.

She looked around and felt a strange cold, in the room, skitter across her skin like a stone skittered across a lake. Her eyes found the small letter upon his table. He had left it there—certain that Itachi would not come, and he was right. The older one had been absolutely cold towards his sibling: he had not stepped foot in this room since that night.

"What do you think it's made of?" she asked and sat down beside him, her eyes upon his face, which was all pale and melancholy. He looked so miserable, more so than last night: a dark shade of illness surrounded his eyes, and dark hair clustered, in messy layers, over the white brow. He had not bothered to fix them.

"It's artificial," he spoke, and his words suddenly sounded so clear in the midst of sounds from autumn's defeated storm.

"You sure?" she asked, her face showing surprise.

"I can't see the damn seal! It's artificial—this chakra's artificial!" he spoke through gritted teeth, and his eyes moved across the shadow-filled room in a manner as though he was frantic in search of shapes that came metamorphosed from his paranoia—his nightmares that he chose not to share with his brother, with anyone.

"That's impossible! I—"

"I've tried and I've tried," he cut across her, his voice growing rough in the grip of anger, frustration, defeat, "I can't replicate it at all. The base seal's hidden from my gaze. Even with the Sharingan, it's useless!" He turned his face away, exposing his sharp cheek to the light; he had lost the fat that usually filled out a bit of his cheeks (in these past few nights).

"Sasuke, cool down," she whispered, in tone soft, but he had no patience left in him for such customary acts.

"I _am_ calm," he hissed and lied to his heart, and to her, his eyes blazing red this time, ever so ready to punctuate his argument. "Just tell Jūgo to keep a watch on Meru's men."

The storm yawned outside and sent in a few puffs of cool breaths to disturb the bleak flames in the sunken-fireplace. Karin had never felt so cold in the presence of such warmth. Sweat appeared on Sasuke's skin, and he shivered—his fever had risen again with a new furiousness.

Moments passed, and he spoke no more—his head bowed, eyes focused on the flames that had lost their strength in the night's cold. She did not know what to do; so she watched him and the shade that darkened upon his features as the fire lost some more of its vigour; it had become a dull yellow shade upon his white face.

With a little hesitation indicated by her face, she grabbed hold of his hand. He did not stir, nor did he resist. Itachi had really broken him . . . in these past few weeks. She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed his fingers; but still he sat there like a lifeless toy. And they sat like this through the cold of the night—unaware of the coming storm . . .

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From the window, the village straggled irregularly up the side of the hill in his vision, quiet against a dull red sky—evening was coming. The birds had gone silent in the new autumn winds, which had shown no signs of altering their paths; they would keep blowing through the season, turn freezing, and welcome winter with breaths cold.

A few puffs of soft wind blew in his face, and his eyes transfixed upon the large sacred-stone that guarded the back-entrance of Uchiha village. It was beset with trees whose leaves had gone orange. A stream ran out from the north side, quiet in its sombre motions.

"You will have to ask Sasuke," Tsunade spoke from her perch; her demeanour had little gentleness to spare. Almost thoughtlessly, she grabbed hold of a sake bottle, poured a glass full to the rim, and put it to her lips.

"But isn't Sasuke away? Would he—" Sakura stopped and moved her gaze over to the older brother's face, which appeared sickly white in the last lights of today's sun. There was a bit of life's colour in the visible parts of his neck and cheek, like a tinge of pink on a snow-white funeral cloth, but it was not enough to suppress her fears.

She swallowed her words, for he made her so afraid. It did not seem as if he had even acknowledged her presence: he was preoccupied with the idle task of gazing upon the hillocks beyond the forest. A wind touched softy his hair, and the loose hanging strands stirred against his long white throat, like a black-brush against a clay-toy in the skilled hands to bestow a certain sense of naturalness to the lifeless features; but without the colours, he was just a mockery of Nature—a perfection without passions. She immediately looked away, not desiring to see more of him now; he was so like Sasuke, only unnatural in appearance . . . bereft of the ghostly touches of passion's and life's hues. He frightened her!

"Reo, was it?" Tsunade asked, and the young man, with a slim and graceful figure, nodded behind Sakura. He appeared to be a fresh-coloured youth of about four-and-ten years of age. He had a rather stiff shock of dirty brown thatch upon his head that could be likened to prickly shrubs that grew unchecked on the borders of Sand.

"He can stay with you—if Itachi doesn't disprove," Tsunade said and took a noisy sip of sake. Then she directed her gaze to Itachi, who appeared quite disinterested in the whole affair: he merely cast the boy a cold glance and looked away again, after he had crossed one leg over the other (as if out of habit).

She gestured them to leave and they did. The sounds of their steps, upon the new wood, died away. Quietness pervaded the room that slowly eroded away against the decaying noises of autumn; but he was quiet still. He had not picked up the letter again, and she did not know what he would say.

She breathed in deeply, her eyes went dark, and her lips, of a delicate cherry-coloured hue, thinned in a hard, long line; he was being so bull-headed! "You've grown unusually stubborn," she commented at last, and her small nose, furnished with fine nostrils, flared dangerously, taking on a decided red tone as she glanced away from him.

As always, he treated her in a same manner as he treated others: a cold sort of aloofness. When a few moments of silence passed into a sure stillness, he rose to his feet and walked to the door of her office, and that was when she stopped him: "Give me that scroll, boy," Tsunade spoke in a commanding tone and stood up as though in challenge. "I'm warning you. I've played this game long enough. If you don't give me that scroll, I _will_ allow Root to arrest your brother and empty-out his head for all to see. Don't force me to go down this path."

Itachi turned slightly and looked at her, but his expression remained elusive. "Your threats are empty," he spoke, his voice soft like waters and strong like storms, "your nature is not bound to my decisions. Why have you not?" And this time, a smile, so like the sinister presence of a spectre, disturbed his countenance just a bit—in mockery.

"You insolent little—" she stopped mid-sentence; her breaths came heavy, and her breast rose and fell fast, her eyes darting over every inch of his face in search of a sign of weakness—deep down she knew she would never find.

Tsunade's projecting lips turned redder in anger, overtaking the artificial hue sake had imparted upon them; however, she controlled her emotion, and it faded in her breast to throb as a dull irritation.

In the light, now, she saw it rise again in his eyes as a strong colour to deliver a sure threat, which fluttered about him as moths in a dream-haze. She touched the side of her head and squinted her eyes against the radiance of his clan's accursed shade. He did not speak a word as though he awaited her response, to his wordless acts of intimidation.

"You—" she started, but stopped again, afraid to meet his eyes lest he meddled with her memories, "—you're imposing, and I don't like it one bit. You know I can't stop the Daimyō's councilman. Have you grown so foolish that you overlook the seriousness of the situation?"

"No," Itachi merely breathed out, his visage no less expressionless; only the slight quirk of his mouth, a pleasant feature that was barely discernible at the present moment, told her that she amused him, greatly.

His nonchalance left her shocked. A harsh breath whistled out of her nostrils, and she put aside the cup that she had been holding onto for the sake of her sanity. "Then you know that I—"

"I know you did nothing of value," Itachi cut across her, his tone of voice still hiding a thread of dominance that she intimately resented now, "I wonder where all of these games will culminate?

"If the clan found out about your _innocent_ mishaps, they would deem you and the council a threat. The Okami clan would think even less of you. What a mess you have created, Hokage-Sama." And this time, a wicked smile danced, like a softest touch of breeze, about his lips; then he left her office as a quiet man so full of danger—her heart had sensed it in his breast, and she did not know how to touch Sasuke without fighting a losing battle . . .

The walk back home was draining, and he could only put up the act for so long. That accursed missive—it had rattled his soul. Just a week? What would he do? A gaping chasm had opened up a rift in his mind, and he did not have it in him to lock away that malice. He stood between his Devil and the deep blue sea . . .

Tsunade had proven to be utterly wanton—a foul woman who was out to get _his_ child to save her own. He should not have instructed Kai to save her life. Such a mess. Such a mess. He had created such a mess . . . for his child.

Still trapped in the mire of thoughts, Itachi went to the graveyard and walked through the pool of mist by his feet. It dispersed against his movements like water. It was almost quiet here as he stood before his father's grave. Like thin streams, rain droplets traced his face and the shape of the gravestone. In there he lay, all rotten and still and dead.

It was so dark here that his Sharingan sprouted, a flower in his eyes' soil. He could now see the dancing lilies Sasuke had planted along the grave. He sat down in an obedient posture, as a good son would before his father, took out two incense sticks from his pocket, and let loose a small puff of flame. It ignited the tips that sizzled beneath the rain. The embers shone bright, and a thick plume of smoke snaked up, along with the fragrance, in the dark air.

He stuck the sticks into the soft dirt where the lilies grew. The rain was sparse and light—it did not disturb the smell and the embers so much. The fragrance hit his senses, and he breathed in deep and long, feeling the strong smell fill his lungs in great bursts. He sat like this—as moments went by—all quiet like the grave of his father. He did not speak, and neither did he. Words just clung to the tip of his tongue as though it was their final anchor. He did not want to part with them just yet.

Itachi did not spare his mother a single glance, his eyes tethered, like a tethered slave, to his father's grave; and in silence she lay, waiting for his sweet words still. A storm of emotions longed to burst-forth from his memories' maw, but the banks of control and cold mounds from his past prevented them from spilling over.

He did not know what to say. It had been a while since he last sat here, all alone by the foot of his father's grave under the lonely sky. Words were like slips of fish, slippery and quick. They always escaped Itachi's grasp in his presence. Even in death, his father's whispers haunted him into a cold submission.

"Must you always, Otō-Sama?" his tongue spoke at last, in voice heavy, betraying his control by listening to his heart that shivered a bit like a boy's heart.

No sound came from the grave—a frightening spot of his father's sepulture. Quiet—he had fallen quiet again. Control had taken over and falls of distant pebbles sounded in his ears like roaring crashes. A distraction, and he cherished it for some more moments. But how long would this control last?

And the wind whispered sweet, and the lilies swayed to and fro to create a show for his eyes: so innocent their movements—so free their spirits. And his heart, no matter how cold, was the heart of a man. He was a man. His heart was of a man. It felt—things at times . . . things that caused him worry and gripped his heart in grief.

A white mist climbed his form with soft fingers, and his breath suspended before his face. (So strange these few signs of warm wetness that were concealed well by the rain.) His eyes moved slightly, and he noticed that the embers had died away—not even the plumes remained.

Itachi lowered his eyes in obedience, and his fingers twitched just a bit on his thighs. "I—" he started and stopped, and it was not like him to stop like a small boy, "—I do not know what to do." He let out a sigh, a burden lifting from his heart as though his father's breast was before him to bear it in his stead, like a father would; and a voice's whisper, from a spectral gate, cradled him, and he felt . . . so empty.

"Why did you not tell me of what was in your heart?" he asked in a soft, soft voice that had a perceptible trace of a boy's accusatory tone, and his words went into the wind and became silence. A cold wind soaked though his clothes and skittered across his back—like innumerable spiders out to craft a web upon him—and his skin went numb to all sensations but those inside his heart: so deep they lay, seedlings sprouting new roots into the soil; and they moved towards the dark, away from the sun.

"Should I do what they all want?" he asked and went silent, as if waiting for an answer that would never come.

"But what of my heart, Otō-Sama? What of—" he stopped when he looked up, a quiet grave greeting his eyes. Shushing sounded from the trees—such a lonely place, like his heart would be without his child; and he did not desire for such a loneliness, such a grave in his breast.

With his dreams still compelling his mind, heart so wounded, he spoke with bitterness woven through his liquid-sweet voice: "You are cold to me, Otō-Sama—so cold . . . in your grave—all quiet to my worries." And then he breathed in the scent of the dead, as though to weave another memory that was meant to be forgotten, got to his feet, and left for his home without looking back at his father's grave . . .

Up in the sky, night had spread, and he had left the dream behind in the graveyard. His steps halted by the stairs that went down to the prison, but he chose not to see Sasuke.

Itachi went to his room and sat by the sliding door that was left open to air the room. A cool wind slid across his skin and night approached fast in silence. He rested his forehead in his palm and listened to Kirin's rueful calls, filled with such pain. Its wings fluttered erratically after every few moments.

At last, unable to deny its strange-tongued pleas any longer, Itachi went to the cage; he noticed, with heart heavy, that it had broken the bones in its right wing in a desperate attempt to free itself of this prison. He opened the little door and took it out. The little hawk did not struggle in its grasp—it was tired, so tired.

Sharingan filled his vision, and he carefully stretched the white wing (with streaks of vivid red) to its full length. Kirin cried out a painful sound and pecked his finger. Its wing was useless—had he noticed it before, he would have called upon Yuu to heal it; but now it would never be able to fly again. It was better to put it out of its misery.

Itachi brushed his fingers against its bloodied plumes that were still as white as the first winter's snow, his heart guilty: Sasuke would be saddened by its death. But he never felt any emotion for the animal. It was just the thought of Sasuke that made the movements of his fingers indecisive.

He grabbed hold of its small head between his fingers with care. All he had to do was twist its neck and end its life; but, at that moment, a thought of Jūgo came to him. It was just a fleeting thought, but it gave him a little sense of hope. He put the bird back inside the cage, and the little hawk started screeching in impatience again . . .

Itachi waited in his room. Evening had come, and the sky's purple shade darkened to a terrifying shade of black. He had asked of Karin to bring Jūgo to him. Though, reluctant at first, she went away for Sasuke's sake. Rao came by, asking of him to be kind to Sasuke. Her words about _Truth_ always mounted his worries.

Now he stood in the shadow and watched as Jūgo merged his flesh with that of the bird, which screeched in such pain. Yuu stood by him, utterly shocked by the spectacle. Threads of flesh came out of Jūgo's fingers, went into Kirin's broken wing, and entwined with the broken tendrils: they wriggled, wormy and excited, and merged with the animal's flesh. His Sharingan saw—it saw everything.

"Heal its wing," Itachi commanded and watched the meek Medic position his hands above the bird. A green glow appeared around his hands, and its radiance calmed the struggling bird and eased its pain. Within moments, the muscles repaired themselves in a manner as if they had never been injured. It soothed Itachi's anxiety just a bit, but the human nervous-system was so complicated . . .

"If I asked of you to heal the broken nerves behind a Sharingan-wielder's eyes, would you be able to accomplish such an impossible task?" Itachi asked, and Yuu's eyes widened in fear. He could not be planning to do such a cruel thing!

"Itachi-Sama, you—" Yuu stopped when Itachi raised a silencing hand. He bit into his lip and stayed silent. It was not his place to question a clan's Head. He was just a servant.

Jūgo looked at him odd, his countenance calm. "I've never tried anything like this. What are you . . ." his voice trailed off when Kai and Serizawa stepped into the room. Kai appeared cold and hard; Serizawa, anxious and gloomy.

"You can leave the manor. I will call upon you if need be," Itachi spoke, and his voice was harsh despite its pleasant and soft tone. Then he went out of the room, with Kai and Serizawa in his wake, leaving both of them in the dark.

Night was cool, but a new storm was being spun by Nature's hands in the sky. Itachi did not stop his walk till he reached the door of his sibling's prison. Irritation came across his face at the sight of Suigetsu; he had come at Karin's request. She stood behind him, in his shadow, wringing her hands together as she looked everywhere except at Itachi's face.

"Stop what yor doin', man! This ain't right. Ya gotta think of some other way!" Suigetsu said, anxious and a little angry.

"Why are you here? You have no business here. Leave," Itachi commanded, and his voice, as cold as a winter's night, felt so clear and heavy, almost as if it was an object itself.

"Don't do it. I beg of ya—he's yor brother!" he pleaded, his tone growing rough with emotion.

Itachi remained silent for a few moments, appraising the man before him. A wind blew in their direction, and the lantern went out behind Itachi's back, and all Suigetsu could see now were a pair of red eyes on a tall, tall shadow in the oppressive dark.

"This matter is not your concern— _my_ brother is not your concern," Itachi's shadow spoke softly and dangerously. "Whilst your gushing sentiments are touching, I do not have time for your theatrics today. Leave, and take this treacherous girl with you."

Suigetsu clenched his teeth and fingers. Anger rushed through his veins. "Send 'im with me," he said and slapped his hand against his breast, "I'll take care of 'im. Ya got a choice. Don't—don't be like that. Ya got a—"

"I have no choice—Sasuke has left me with no choice," Itachi's soft words now hissed from his lips, and his shadow grew taller like a menacing Daemon with wings. "You may think your foolish games were worth the trouble, but now _my_ child will reap the rewards of your games. You will know remorse. I will make certain of it."

And then he went quiet like the moth, and red went away and left showy eyes upon his face, like the ones the moth wore upon its wings. He turned towards the door and went into the room, with Kai and Serizawa behind him, and all Suigetsu could do was watch . . . in defeat.

Sasuke sat quietly by the fire. He had hidden away the letter; it was as if he had felt it in his bones that his brother would come. He rose to his feet slowly when Itachi stepped into the light, through the film of barrier stretched across the doorframe, from the shadows that filled the corridor.

Shadows rippled and Kai and Serizawa appeared from the dark, as well; their heads bowed. They stood still and Kai closed the door without looking up. Like two statues they were, positioned on either side of the wrathful deity that was his brother. His face wore such a cold expression, colder than the winter's dream; and Sasuke did not speak. A chill had fallen on this place and turned it into his grave.

"You child," Itachi breathed out, his eyes fixed upon his brother's face, which was endowed by Nature with innocence—and love he always felt for him.

"Tell me what you have done. Do not disobey me now. Do not hide things from me now," he spoke and stepped closer, and Sasuke's visage displayed a fear his weakness could not let him control.

"So arrogant and full of love for this treacherous village—you're not my brother!" Sasuke accused, and his voice was as rough as a heavy metal being dragged across the dirt-ground.

Itachi's eyes became so red, and Shurikens formed in their depths to transfix him in place. White light illuminated Itachi's face; there was a shadowy gloom in the room, and the fire in the fireplace had gone cold in his brother's presence.

"You are honest," Itachi began, and cool words tripped from his tongue in an effortless manner, "I do love this village—more than everything. More than you can imagine. I would give my life for this village, and I would take a life for it, as well. I will never question such a sentiment. It is in my bones, but _you_ are in my heart—and you wound me . . . always.

"Had I loved you less, I would have killed you for what you have done, but I cannot. I cannot. You are my weakness—my _only_ weakness."

Then, as Sasuke's weakness got the best of his vision, he saw a blur move, but he did not have time to react. His back met the floor and breaths escaped his lungs in a single sound of pain.

"Let go!" Sasuke growled, struggling beneath Itachi's imposing weight. He was unable to free his hands from Itachi's cruel grasp. He tried to knead chakra to run Raiton through his system, but only a little spark of it manifested upon his hands. He could not knead chakra!

Sasuke's system expelled a large amount of sweat, and his skin went clammy and cold in fear. "What have you—"

"What is the matter—I thought you enjoyed the taste of berries?" Itachi spoke so coldly, watching as Sasuke's expression warped in such anger at his remark.

"Hold him down," Itachi commanded, and Kai and Serizawa placed their elbows upon his breast and their knees upon his arms so that his movements were almost completely stopped. He tried to thrash about, but without the breath of fire in his veins, it was hopeless.

Serizawa turned his face away: sadness invaded his visage that was perceivable to Itachi's eyes.

"You can leave if this distresses you so much," Itachi said without emotion. Serizawa bowed his head and did what was asked of him, but he kept his gaze away from Sasuke's face.

Sasuke was overcome by anger, fear, and shame now. Despite the influence of a foreign substance in his veins, his chakra was powerful enough to power through: he turned and tamed it into Raiton and it burnt upon the skins of his tormentors.

He saw Itachi indicate something to them with a subtle tilt of his head, and then un-kneaded chakra just poured into his system. It was mixed with something strong that throttled his own, and his Raiton went out—right before his eyes. Had he been robust and healthy, he would have thrown them off him with a slight change in his chakra; but in these moments, his flames were defeated, tamed by his brother's schemes.

"Look at me," Itachi spoke and bent down so much that he appeared like a white and terrifying ghost in Sasuke's vision—all actors and theatres and plays!

Sasuke squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to turn his face away, but Itachi had grabbed his face between his hands. Sasuke felt him pry open his right eye with his thumb and forefinger; and he was left with no choice but to stare deep into the red that greeted him. His heart pounded loud and clear in every chamber, every vein, every bone of his body. It sang and it feared, yet it had no tongue to speak. What an odd instrument of his emotions' music!

But before the dark, before the anger and before the fear, overtook him, his heart whispered in sincerity: "My brother was always cruel, but in his eyes, one day … I had seen the man I wanted to become. You're not that man anymore—you're not the brother I loved . . . you're not the father I loved . . . "

Then Sasuke's voice changed, and he sang out in a different tune. The dark chamber filled with his screams. Blood poured out of his eyes as though they were martyrs in battle and went down his white face; but Itachi kept looking, and a strong emotion waged a war against the ever-present cold of his wintery expression.

The screams faded like autumn's songs in his mind, and he came upon the world of his child's mind. A small Sasuke, all white and sweet, stood by his feet; and black beaks, sharp like swords, went deep into his flesh, bleeding him, wounding him till he shrieked—his face a picture of such grotesque artistry.

Crows poked at him and ripped his white skin away and left patches of oozing flesh for Itachi to see. One took the boy's eye out and the other ruined his petal-like lips. They inflicted such violence upon his face that, once they were done, they left a misshapen mouth and peeking teeth and hollow eyes for him to see . . . _it is just a mirage_ , Itachi assured his heart: it was not real!

Threads of blood diluted in the clear water by the child's feet as it crumbled away bit by bit, piece by piece, drop by drop, till a husk of its shell turned to dust right before his eyes and vanished in the cool wind. The sight of it all—stabbed his heart in two. The sounds of the babe's harrowing cries still resounded, till the echoes, too, faded away.

Madness was just a doorstep away—solemn stillness prevailed in this world that was beset by his crows' cruelties and their malice. He saw tulips in misty waters and a shark hiding amidst slips of fish below the film of water. Purple blobs fell from his skin, took on shapes as they congealed in the water, and flew out as moths to envelop the distant memory of a child in a dark pool—it had to be rewritten!

When Itachi pulled out from the depths of Sasuke's memories, he was exhausted. Sasuke had turned his face into the floor and his screams had stopped; but now he whimpered like a child. Kai and Serizawa let go of him at his command, and Sasuke curled up upon the floor and wrapped his arms over his head as if trying to protect himself from a blow.

"I'm sorry, Nii-San—I won't do it again," he whimpered as Itachi rose to his feet. He watched as blood flowed from Sasuke's eyes in a manner as if they had been stabbed through with keen blades.

"I won't do it—I won't do it again," he whispered between sobs that shook his whole body. "I can't see. Nii-San, I can't see—I can't see . . ." And he kept mumbling like this, weeping in hysterics that his words were rendered incoherent to Itachi's ears.

Itachi looked to Kai and Serizawa, who looked utterly horrified, his calm an impenetrable barrier. "Tie up his hands to the wall so that he does not wound himself—and lock him up," Itachi spoke with a certain firmness to his voice and left the room . . .

# # # # # #


	65. Blood Pools

**Chapter Sixty-five** : Blood Pools

# # # # # #

"Really, Nii-San?" Sasuke asked, countenance showing excitement in the spill of light. Then he twisted his rosy mouth a bit, and the shadow upon the curve of his left cheek fluttered against the nature of flame that burnt—so uncertain—in the lantern. He appeared confused now. He sat upon the mat, and his fingers were quite busy on a small string in his hands: he had been practicing the tricks of strings for _Shuriken-Jutsu_ again.

"Yes, Higanbana's flower and leaves never bloom together," Itachi said and caressed Sasuke's cheek with the palm of his hand, and his fingertips brushed against the flushed skin in thoughtless motions. "Its blub is also poisonous. I do not want you touching it next time. Plant something else there."

"But—" Sasuke stopped, and his face fell in sadness. Then he put the string aside, and leant his forehead against Itachi's knee; he sat upon a chair, his shadow a heavy ghost upon his little sibling's form.

"Why do you not plant the lilies there?" Itachi asked and stroked his head.

"They won't keep the burrowing animals away," Sasuke mumbled and heaved a long and heavy sigh that expanded his small breast.

Wind crossed the forests and came to them, noisy in its arrival. Windows and doors rattled, and the house murmured a creaky song. A storm had expanded above the land, and the manor was caught in the glare of its eye. A pattering sound started, chilling the room—just a bit.

"Come and sit here," Itachi spoke and watched as a smile spread across Sasuke's mouth like a soft streak of red hue. Sasuke climbed Itachi's thigh and leant into his breast.

For a few moments, Sasuke spoke nothing; and wind's murmurs filled the room as though they were soft sounds from the throats of the dead. Treading lightly, slowly, and silently, the sounds enveloped the manor like a breezy veil, and the wind became this house's breath.

"Are you going again?" Sasuke asked, his voice too innocent to hide his anguish, the soft expression upon his face morphing to show his emotions—a young boy's emotions.

"I will come back before the next moon appears, and I shall bring good strings for you," Itachi spoke with a smile in his voice; and his words assuaged Sasuke's fears, and Serizawa saw something shift in Sasuke's gaze, noticed the change from an innocent glimmer to a perceivable sheen of utmost adoration.

The Lord's voice had become richer with the waning and waxing moons; and now, autumn-winds' murmurs mingled with the expressive sounds made by his Lord's tongue. In the room everything undulated between them in a childhood play—smells, sounds, and all.

"It was an autumn night, and the crows had come to feast upon the moths," Serizawa's Lord whispered, and his white hand pushed the wild hair from his child's face, who bled vivid ichor from his eyes.

"A-Autumn, Nii-San?" the child asked, and his voice trembled still, riding upon the soft currents in the confinement of the room—his hands in shackles that clanked together when he moved a little in anxiety. He sat by the Lord's feet, looking up at his face adoringly as though nothing else existed in the world but the signs of him that filled his vision—distant crows that appeared like black and grey mottles within the excited rabble of autumn moths.

"Yes, autumn," Itachi answered in the softest voice and caressed Sasuke's cheek, which was clothed with a bright colour the fire emitted, with the back of his fingers. "The crow, Yatagarasu, guided the king—in this season.

"It was a cold season and many died to protect the child king. Spider lilies wilted away in the graveyard. Autumn moths poisoned them. Their vapours consumed the other moths, as well. And in winter, the king alighted on the mountain, all immortal and powerful." And this time, a ghost smile touched the Lord's lips, and he bent forward to press a kiss to his distressed child's cool brow. The black hair slid down across his white skin as ink upon the scroll to paint his features in a delicate manner.

Sasuke's face crumpled; he took in quick and short breaths, and then he wept. His body shuddered with fever. The winds and the cold and the Lord had been so unkind to him. He pressed his forehead to his Lord's, Itachi's, knee, and his shaking fingers gripped his ankle—in adoration, in a silent plea, sounds that came from the deep of his breast.

"Don't go, Nii-San. I can't see you—and it frightens me! This room frightens me!" he spoke through sobs and hitched short breaths: his words wobbled, nearly unintelligible to Itachi's ears.

"Hush, do not weep," Itachi spoke, words soft like flowing black ink that filled the room's canvas some more. He lifted Sasuke's chin with the tip of his cold, white fingers—long hairless spider-legs in his child's deep-dreams. "You are a good child— _my_ child. You shall stay here, and you shall sleep without a sound."

Sasuke bent his head forward, and his forehead kissed Itachi's knee again as though he made an obeisance to his Lord. Then he went so quiet as though his spirit had grown weary with visions.

Itachi placed his arms on the armrest, his back straight and rigid like his blade. He looked to Serizawa, and his face appeared cold and hard in the dark that permeated this side of the canvas, though his Sharingan slept as soundly as Sasuke, in his eyes.

"Lay him down upon the futon," Itachi said, and Serizawa obeyed with a silent nod. He laid Sasuke out on the futon and pulled the kakebuton over his body. He slept as quietly as Itachi had asked of him—like an exhausted child.

Itachi did not stay. He rose to his feet, and without casting another glance upon Sasuke, he walked out of the room, leaving his colours in his child's canvas.

Wind blew strong and keen. Storm had come to distort night's colours; but it did not stay too long: only few of its last breaths remained that touched his face and throat. It was quiet in his office, and moon had risen full in the sky. Beneath it stood dark mountains fringed by peculiar trees that stood amidst deciduous ones, whose colours he could not see without his Sharingan.

Vague mist crossed the landscape and embroiled the forests in a quiet haze—a place sepulchered in silence. He did not speak to his own Lord, _his_ heart, and it could not but look at his empyrean substance that had been beggared by the child's, _his_ darling's, present state—all it could hear were its own mundane vibrations and sounds, which it sent through his veins to enrich his body.

He heard sounds upon the wooden floor and smelt the smell that came from her reeking body, and his heart, his listening instrument, heard just a bit of his anger. He did not stir nor did he speak when the knock came upon the door. A silence followed the two knocks, which were too loud in this quiet place; and then the door opened and she came into the room, her steps timid.

He did not say anything as he sat in the cool of the night that came from the open window. His arms rested upon the chair's armrest, and his eyes remained transfixed to the faint hues in the night. She had never seen him without his scrolls, without his cool eyes, sitting so calmly in unnatural quietness that made her fear him even more.

"I-Itachi-Sama?" she spoke, her voice barely keeping up with her tongue. Still he did not stir, as though he had sunk down betwixt the ocean's walls of silence. She clutched the scroll tighter and pressed it to her breast and made her way towards him. Her feet trembled as if mud had clogged them; but she calmed her breaths and heart and approached him, the hum of her heartbeats vibrating in her veins and the air around her.

The whole room had become a heart, and its sounds struck her with a hard rhythm. When her gaze fell upon him, she noticed that his face appeared like a white-bone in the moonlight. She stopped, and her body soaked in the sounds of heart and wind and forests.

"Itachi-Sama?" she spoke his name again, but the honorific rolled off her tongue as a distorted sound. She was so . . . terrified of him; he looked just like a ghost sitting in the chair. At last, his gaze left the darkness in the forest and settled upon her, though he did not speak—nor did his eyes.

"I have a request," she began in a timid voice, and her face and voice exhibited nervousness; she saw a slight glint of something in his eyes before it disappeared, but she lacked the years to define it, "I want the Anbu post—the one that's empty after the medic's death. I—"

"I am aware which post you speak of," Itachi spoke and his voice soaked through her skin and chilled her heart. "Why do you desire it?"

His question surprised her, and she saw that same glint appear and disappear in his eyes again; and she felt as though she was a dangling piece of flesh at the end of a vein that branched from the venous web of his heart. Her body could feel a strange . . . pulse of threat emanate from him.

However, she willed courage into her breast and took in a deep breath. Then she looked him in the eye and spoke: "I want to distance myself from Sasuke. We don't get along. It would give us both a bit of space."

Itachi did not say anything for a few moments, and his eyes watched her in a manner that they possessed the power to cut open her breast to see what was in her heart. She lowered her eyes immediately—curse the Sharingan! Then she just listened to the faint murmurings and ululations in the air.

"Place it upon the table, Sakura, and come and stand before me in the moonlight," Itachi spoke, and this time, his voice had come out stronger, deeper.

Sakura nodded. She took a few steps to place the scroll on the table, and then she went back to stand at the same spot. Moonlight bathed her in a white colour, and she saw, with fear coming from her breast, that his Sharingan had risen against the light. His eyes crawled across her body in search of . . . something.

"Have you seen Danzō in these past few days?" Itachi asked, and the walls of her world rattled at his voice.

"No, I've not seen him," Sakura replied and kept her gaze low; she had no desire to gaze into the dark of his vision's red.

"Why do you avert my eyes?" he asked, and the sinister ring, which was so sweet, in his voice compelled her to look at him. She did not say anything, and he kept looking at her, a faint smile rising to touch his lips' surface, like a slip of fish. He had realized that she avoided Danzō's name, and it made her soul ache in fear.

"Remove your garments," Itachi commanded, and that unnatural sweetness disappeared from his voice, like the smile from his lips.

Sakura stood stunned, rooted to the spot like a terrified animal. The expression upon her countenance changed to show utmost shock. "I-Itachi-Sama—what are—"

"Remove all of them," he cut across her, "every last article, and show me your form—now." And the world darkened about her, and everything went dim but the red upon his face.

Sakura did not know what to do; the darkness, the red, the vibrations . . . everything beat her spirit into submission. She did not have it in her to deny his command. Itachi had sensed that Root had branded her with their mark. It was no use hiding anything.

Hesitantly, with fingers trembling, she stripped off her shirt, skirt, and shorts and cast them aside. Then she tore down her undergarments and threw them upon the heap. She wanted to reach her hands up to her breasts (hide them from his gaze), but she fisted them by her side.

When wind hit her body, patches of pink colour appeared upon her sweat-soaked, freckled skin. The thick curls between her legs glistened in the light. She had dark pink and red freckles that ran down between her breasts, which were so small for a woman, and down the length of her arms.

"Knead your chakra and release the seal," Itachi spoke again, and his voice rang in her ears like a temple's heavy bell.

Sakura did as she was told: she uncurled her fists, raised her hands, and made the _Tiger-Seal_. Chakra poured out of the seal and coiled around her naked limbs, like a snake. She lowered her hands at her sides and watched him see her through the scorching eyes of his clan.

Suddenly, Sakura was facing the wall, her hands upon the smooth wood that emitted a natural scent of forest. She heard a voice, which came from the deep, that told her to part her thighs, and she did. A seep of moisture came from her core, and something small wormed in—little and black.

She leant her head back, and her lips parted, and she felt two fingers invade her mouth; and she bit down upon them, tasting blood. Then she gulped and saw a world turned upside down; black rain floated about her and fell upon the strange, rippling roof and went in, and sharp things like beaks burrowed out and collided with the stone ground in loud splatters—hail, black-hail, that smelt of moths and something else.

Black ink climbed up her back, to reach her right shoulder, and then it spilt down and shrouded her breast; then the black branched so much, mapping every inch of her breast like invading, superficial veins that turned to hair that clustered in the most luxuriant manner upon her skin.

The bones inside the fingers broke; the flesh melted away; and the fingers were no longer two, but one. And that one thing's surface turned smoother and thicker, like a beak, and went deep inside her to peck at her flesh—back and forth, back and forth, over and over again; and she swallowed the sticky bile that was loosened from the tip. She suckled it lovingly as it filled her mouth and throat.

The voiceless crow pulled his beak out, and she drew in a laboured breath, a white string stretching taught from the surface of her lips. Ghostly black hair floated upwards into the wind, and they smelt strange as though they had been dunked in the perfumes of autumn's rot and whisked before her face.

Then the beak parted the pink fleshes of her thighs to locate her slit: it brushed against the swollen, mucus-coated lips and invaded her damp crevice, plunged in deep and deeper with a quick and hard rhythm; and her cunt pulled it in deep and deeper, squeezing it like a crazed grip, and as a flood of craving washed down her thighs, she felt no shame. She stood with her back to the crow, trembling feet planted apart, heat coiling in her thighs that quaked with tension.

"Your tricks will be the death of you—no matter how much you desire this pleasure," a distant voice filled her ear with a cold, cold whisper; but she swallowed the wave of lust that throttled her senses; and when the beak struck her core, a deep, visible arch formed in her neck and back; sweat splashed everywhere, and she pushed her buttocks back repeatedly (against the crow) in vulgar motions and took all of the beak into her cunt, her body shuddering in a frenzy to reach the shores of this torturous pleasure's release; then she squeezed, squeezed hard, squeezed harder, till she felt the beak tremble and thicken inside her, felt the fluid spring from the tip to fill up her womb.

Sakura screamed—the sound spread through the ocean as silent ripples; and as the waters from woman and beast's conjoining flowed down her thighs, she was spent. The beak had touched such depths and bent her spirit into gratitude—heavens' mockery.

She slid down to the ground, her eyes opening to see a scene that filled her with terror. An ink-ocean expanded before her as far as her eyes could see—an endless black. A whispering forest of withering trees straggled north behind her. She rose up under the full moon and saw a mass of bone-white bodies whitening in its light.

Her heart and the courage it vaunted of, faded away—beat by beat, drop by drop, pulse by pulse. Veins appeared in the withered ground, thirsty for water. Then, as though the crow-sky had heard its pleas, rain descended. Veins expanded and grew thicker with water and turned to black mud, which bubbled and birthed little hatchings that cawed and cawed, till the waves surged forward to crash upon them, destroying them to little jagged pieces.

The waters became silent, pristine, and there upon the rippling surface sat Mikoto. She pulled at the collar of her rich red kimono, and it slid down her lovely skin to gather at her waist. She showed Sakura her white breasts. Then she lifted up a babe from inside the water and pressed its face to her breast. The little one parted its mouth in hunger and suckled upon the teat, its cheeks pink as sake, mouth red as roses.

Black hair framed her face, but it changed. Bones shifted underneath the skin and the contours hardened. They no longer appeared as soft as those of a woman. She had turned into a man—into Itachi: his breast became well-defined and hair spilt upon the white and the babe cried in his arms in hunger again. Then Fugaku appeared in her vision; he, too, held a little child in his arms, and he, too, turned into— _him_!

The air had become stale, heavy—so heavy. The Itachi that wore a woman's kimono looked at her; and through the long, rich lashes that shaded his eyes, she saw the familiar gleam of red. Then his lips were smiling in such an unnatural manner that was so unbecoming of him; his face still possessed a hazy touch of Mikoto's fine features, and Sakura did not think she had ever seen anything so beautiful, so perfect, so ugly—in her entire life.

Itachi's shoulders shuddered, and he emitted a strange sound; his voice's terrifying, sweet seduction passed into a soft laughter that went wild along the shore. "I do not laugh in such a manner. You think such strange things of me," the other one spoke, his face sober as he gazed down upon the darling babe who would not stop whimpering.

"There there, child," the softer one whispered from lips pretty and red, "we shall punish her for causing you so much distress."

Her heart and world rattled, and she stumbled on an uncertain earth. She fell down onto her knees, and mud clung to her naked skin. "No . . ." she breathed in a faintest whisper, and her tear-filled eyes fixed upon the babe, realization stabbing through her heart in a single motion, "S-Sasuke . . ."

Their heads snapped towards her, and the babe's cries sung terrible echoes; and rude wind slapped against her face as though the world had gone angry. Mist rose from the deep and sepulchered the world. They disappeared behind the veil, and the eye could not but look upon her in all its red glory.

Drip-drop drip-drop drip-drop—black trickled loose from the crow-sky. Feathers burrowed out of the surface like purple lilies, and a long, long beak pierced the far end of the sky, like a toppled mountain. Sharingan whirled in its eye as it looked upon her as though she was a little insect in this world. In the crow's eye, her mind was lost in visions!

Ink spread beneath the ocean, a ripening disease, and little blobs formed on the surface that had become a thick sludge. They coalesced and made a larger blob and surges threw it upon the shore in a splatter of black gore. Sakura stumbled back and spasms travelled in her muscles at the scene before her—she had never been so afraid in her entire life.

Then, out of the blob, black liquid spread out and changed into fine strands of hair; and a white form rose out of the sludge, which slid down the limbs to reveal—Itachi! He smiled and the smile widened and widened till his beautiful face could contain it no more. His mouth ripped open at nature's seams, and he reached up, grabbed hold of his face, and pulled the skin back.

She saw a beak come out of his mouth, and a head of an eyeless bird appeared as he ripped away his fleshy-visage, a beautiful edifice, and cast it aside. Screams were strangled in her throat, and she turned back to run, but stopped—stopped at the foot of mass upon mass of white-clay-like bodies, dappled red with blood; their faces frozen in strange contortions, eyes fixed upon the man behind her.

Her heartbeats sped through her aching veins, and she ran as fast as she could, her feet crushing the cold clay beneath as she went. The clay crunched and emitted gooey insides and rotten smells that choked her throat close, preventing the vapours from descending any further. She coughed but did not stop and ran deep into the forest.

The forest did not welcome her. Dry roots grew out, cradling countless purple lilies. Her foot caught in the roots and she hit the ground, weeping now. "Let me out!" she screamed and heard her voice echo for several moments.

"I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you desire," he spoke from the sky, air, earth, and his voice came to her like a whisper.

When Sakura heard the crunch of feet upon the leaves, she slithered behind a tree. Her heart thundered like drums—she was surprised he had not heard it beat. Everything about her was nothing more than silence as her heartbeats overwhelmed the sounds and dulled her senses.

Sakura peeked from behind the tree, not making any sound. The strange creature, with head of crow and a warped body of a man, went away. She breathed in a broken breath, and let out a quick, sudden one when she found him standing before her, lips clothed in a sweet smile.

He approached her and began to shake free of his white skin. That triggered her defenses to high alert. This time, she did not run. Anger and fear etched her face, and she made a rock-hard first and hit his breast with all her might. His face changed into _that_ prisoner's she had killed. Then black ink sprayed out with the blow and splashed her face and the tree behind her.

Sakura fell back against the tree, her breaths calming, the convulsions in her limbs going away; but she heard a wriggling sound and snapped her head up, her eyes flashing fear. The trembling returned in her body with full force. The droplets had merged together again; and hair leaked out of the holes in the old bark and descended before her like a curtain, and his long white arms tore free of the sludge. She saw a bit of his face in the black mass, but a crow's head tore out of his mouth before it could attain its perfect shape; and before she could react, he swallowed up her head—she screamed and hot, rancid-smelling liquid coursed down her legs like rain.

Sakura slumped down to the floor and screwed her eyes up. Moments passed and cool wind went across her shivering body. She opened her eyes, ever so slowly, and her vision focused upon him—he had not moved from his chair!

"You have created such a mess," Itachi spoke, his face white as those dead clay-men in his illusion. Beside him stood Serizawa—his head was bowed, and his hands were clasped obediently behind his back.

"Clean this up," he instructed Serizawa, a frown disturbing his smooth brow. Then he rose up and left the foul-smelling room . . .

When Itachi stepped outside, wind rolled above his head, a palpable presence. Her memories had told him so much, and as wind's smell wormed into his nostrils, a mist covered his world in a soft caressing. He walked with his dearest friend, looking at his countenance.

"Danzō didn't say anything else?" Itachi asked in a boy's voice.

Shisui shook his head; his silence was heavy upon Itachi's heart. "We were driven out of the Village because the Elders' council realized that the Mangekyō can control the daemons," Shisui said and turned his face towards the shadows to look at the dark and what it hid—sometimes, men tailed him, and they had to be given a swift death to avoid any trouble.

"But Otō-Sama already knows this," Itachi said and took long steps as he briskly walked, with Shisui, towards the end of their village, graveyard bound.

They walked through the bridal bed of dews and saw rows of gravestones rise in the darkness. "It isn't that simple," Shisui broke off and stopped before a quiet cluster of graves, "the Uchiha elders are right—it's about the lands. Danzō's made an alliance with the _Elite Squad_. This won't end well . . ." He went silent and bent forwards to move the leaning, drying tree branches out of his way.

"The coup isn't the answer," Itachi said in a soft voice that expressed his discontent.

Shisui looked at Itachi and patted his head. "You're still young—you'll learn," he spoke, smiling.

A glowing lantern swayed above their heads. Little insets had crowded it, bewitched by the artificial light, thinking it to be a moon in their reach. "Do you think Minato-San can help us?" Itachi asked and saw surprise come into Shisui's face.

"I don't know—" he stopped, hand upon the wet stone, "he made the seal for the host. It was under his care, too. All that disgrace—I don't think he's in a position to help anyone."

"Danzō thinks a clan made it go berserk," Itachi spoke with impatience and stepped forwards to stand in the softening yellow light, "you don't think he could be talking about—"

"He didn't say anything about us, Itachi," Shisui cut him off in a heavy and harsh voice, and then he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

"What are you doing?" Itachi asked as Shisui squeezed through the gaps between the rough branches to go in the back.

"It's this!" Shisui told him, and wondrous visions that had ordered from the deep ended in his eyes; he was a boy no longer. He sat down before the sacred stones and moved the lush branches; and there it was, another tunnel!

Itachi heard steps behind his back, and he rose to his feet. Wind moved through his hair, and he turned a little to look behind him: it was Nomura . . .

# # # # # #

The air stirred into song and the combers wider and wider spread—quiet as the flowers by her feet. _Camellia_ , white ones, unbidden grew. Silently the leaves drifted across the coarse earth.

With a lily in hand, a smile on the lips, she stood in the cool light, her hair black at the temples. Sun and dew mantled her cheeks with a shade meek the red ones possessed—spatters so vivid in the haze of shallow waters by the crooked trees.

The lily quivered in her hand, its colour drained of splendor and sheen by the new winds, such cold unkind winds. She looked down, her lashes brushing against the sweet cheeks. She passed her hand over belly; there it germinated, his seed, his child. (She could feel a male chakra coiling in her womb that was so like his.)

A smile appeared on her lips: _ah, thy sweet lips and the darkened shade of thy flesh in the evening sky_. She stepped from the shade of the trees and into the sun. Her kimono flowed in layers of fine silk and golden threads glimmered through the folds, their colour soft like the white underside of a powerful wave.

Mist obscured her vision; a Sharingan she possessed not. The eye was an apotheosis as a warrior, a man. Men's visions morphed, set alight by the songs from the lips of the dead that filled their eyes with a colour of such . . . passion. What a strange song—such lovely colours that mocked the dead with a gaudy show!

Few women possessed this power: there had not been a woman with the red eyes in their clan for a few generations. Her smile faded in thought, eyes drifting to scale the quiet lake that sent breaths of cool wind in her direction. Its slumber was deep this season. Come winter, its slumber would be deeper and sweeter like death.

An odour of moths came floating on the wind from beyond the shores. It pierced her nostrils and overcame her senses, temporarily. They had mated with the pink ones in a frenzy, expelled their poisons, and flown away in Nature's mirage to the lush meadow where lilies upgrew, brimming the valley with a purple mist.

She put her hand over her nose and mouth and turned away from the lake—it was drunk on the smells of devil's moths of autumn's equinox. The ones with wings so pink would writhe in passion, and they would die in passion. Few laid eggs that would birth the purple ones— _just_ the purple ones! They had to mate with the other moths that possessed dull shades, to birth pink ones like them.

Her eyes caught sight of one lonely pink moth writhing in the grass covered with dew that glimmered in the sparse light. Its belly had so much of the purple poison; its wings lacked the strength to carry it beyond the shores to the other side. In agony and love it twisted, wings wounded after flights of fancy; it had wantoned amid the lilies.

Left it here that cold, cold rabble, just to die a slow death mapped with illusions. It jumped, restless. And here would be its grave, silence, without a lid this earth never gave. Shibito-bana, with mottles so purple on the delicate red, it beckoned its tiny soul, but the sensation had over-weighted its form.

It withered and writhed till the air's garment writhed in answer. The slumbering bit of clumps in her womb, a hushed flesh, trembled in agony. Deeper and deeper her flesh shook; and the cold met her bosom, and she felt such want. Her trembling hand clutched at her belly, and she saw the white garment turn red at her thighs.

Red gushed forth and fell on the shaking Camellia and became its garb—he died in silence in her belly; she leant her head back, her face warping in pain, and gave forth a scream so loud, yet it had met its death inside her without a whimper . . . and the gloomy shore turned red by her feet into a blood-pool that beckoned her in the afterlife, and her unformed babe's cries rose with an upward thrill that rattled her forever!

# # # # # #

A hump of dark mountains stood in the distance; beyond the mist, beyond the lake, beyond the forest, they were mighty. She had half a desire to turn to another vision, but she did not. They had looked lovely in the morning, tall and perpendicular, enveloped by mist under primrose's streaks in the autumn sky.

Now their shadows shed a grey gloom over the lake, and the effect was always frightening. She sat in the doorframe, her cold feet dangling above the ground that was enveloped in dews. A rush of wind came in from the outer gloom, and she took in a deep breath to savour the smell of blooming lilies. It was their time—their season of joy!

A dread fell upon her, and her frame shuddered in the cold. The missive flapped under the heavy lantern, a white one she had placed on it, and created crack-crackle-crack sounds that were loud in the dead of the night. The lantern cast a yellow light on the garden, limning the stones of the old well.

Whistles came from its mouth—it was dry. It always went dry in autumn and winter. Servants went out on foot to get water from a stream in their family's graveyard. They had to quench their thirst from the stone-valley of the dead.

Her mind went back to the letter and the dry lilies hidden between its folds: he had not answered her pleas . . . left her alone. Her lips shuddered with a sudden throb deep in her breast, and she too felt a want in her flesh. The knot had tightened by desire's hands, and she felt empty without him now.

Into the winds her breaths went, full of pleas that vanished into the forest. She had waited and she had waited, but he had not come. Days turned into nights, and nights turned into days again, but still he did not come; and her flesh hurt in his absence, and her heart wept without his presence.

The missive crackled, and she thought of the older one—and she hated him so! Hated him with all her heart and soul! He had taken Sasuke from her, and he had taken her joy. Cruel, so cruel, her heart yearned with the melodies it could not speak. Cold, so cold, his grasp over the younger one. She hated him—all of him!

Placing her hand over her bosom, she listened to her heart: the crow's perfection was artifice; his beauty, tricks; his heart, a stone-cold grave; his gaze, a blood-pool in her dreams—and in dreams he haunted her, and in waking he taunted her. He frightened her, and her heart in despair dreamt what she could not have, and in the agony of the chase, she had broken it . . .

She opened her eyes and looked at the dark low-hung sky that was overtaken by a shade so grey: a storm—another dreadful storm. The thoughts crept away into the forest with the shadows, with light at their heels. Her soul felt lighter with the touch of wind that smelt of moths this time. When would this season end?

She heard creaks on the floor and panic came across her face. Quickly and with vigilance, she turned to the floor-bed and hid the letter underneath the makura. She turned around just as quickly, and in thoughtlessness, knocked the lantern onto the floor.

"O-néh-San?" a girl's voice came from the door. A breath later, she opened the door and peered at the dull light radiating in waves towards the corners. It was dark and shadows sat squeezed behind furniture, hiding in wait; a lamp's painting lay abandoned on the floor-bed: it depicted a scene of autumn with lilies in the flush of eternal youth; she could almost see the fabled Rinnegan, the immortal eye, gleaming in their midst!

"You're still awake?" she asked and slid shut the door. A small wailing sound went round the house right after this gesture, but she paid it no mind. She walked to her sister, her feet creaking on the floor, and her face slowly came into the light: her long, dark hair was in a ponytail that emphasized her slender neck that had a pink hue at this hour.

"I-I couldn't sleep—you should go to sleep, Hanabi. Otō-Sama's worried about your health," she mumbled, grasped the lantern, and placed it in an upright position. The gleam, rising, revealed Hinata's white face framed between the black hair. Her face was blank and expressionless.

Hanabi let out a short breath and looked out towards the sky. "You . . ." Hanabi's voice trailed off as though she did not want to speak, ". . . you haven't taken the Shira bikuni's teachings to the temple in a long time. You don't go there anymore."

Hinata turned her face away. Night's shades were dark in the sky and Kamis hands pudder'd in the dark, in her breast for his memories, her tongue fast-bound whilst they searched. She heard the wood creak, and then it creaked some more as her sister sat down beside her. She did not look at her.

The wind came strong, but Hanabi's eyes were on Hinata. She watched as her long black hair streamed back in waves. Strands clove to the cool sweat on her cheeks like dried-up ink. There was no blush on her cheeks, just a lifeless colour of Camellia stolen by the winter, a spectacle for a murder of crows.

Hanabi did not speak, and Hinata remained silent. They sat like this for what felt like endless moments in the lull before the storm. In the light, Hinata's countenance was sober and gloomy. Then from the forest came such strange noises, and she could not hear the creaks of her house above them at all.

Hanabi leant her head against Hinata's shoulder and stole her hand in hers; but her sister was quiet. So she raised Hinata's cold hand to her lips and kissed it. This brought a faint smile to Hinata's lips, but she said nothing more in answer.

"What's the matter, O-néh-San?" she asked, combing Hinata's hair away from her cheeks.

"Nothing, I'm just—" she stopped and breathed in loudly and turned to her.

"Is it about the Chūnin post?" Hanabi asked and squeezed Hinata's hand. "Tsunade-Sama said that Sasuke gets to decide. It isn't that mean Itachi's decision to make! You shouldn't worry." She smiled.

Hinata looked skyward and watched the stars fade away behind the clouds. The flame in the lantern flickered and made bright the chakra particles dancing in the air. They came out of flora and earth, Nature's exhalations, and glimpsed in the light like stars at arm's length.

"Look, O-néh-San!" Hanabi exclaimed and sprang to her feet. " _Forest Ghosts_ —they've come early." She turned around and looked down at Hinata; her whole face seemed to smile.

Hinata stepped down onto the cool grass and felt few of them collide with her cheeks. They left a strange tingling sensation in her skin, like a sudden rush of blood. They knocked against one another and vanished away, but many more kept coming! It was as though she stood in a lake of fireflies.

"I'll go with you," Hanabi spoke, trying to catch a few in her fists. She was not successful. "Okā-San taught in the temple, too. She believed in the blood-pool he—"

"Is it necessary? She's gone!" Hinata cut her off in a sharp whisper, her tone bitter, and turned away towards the forest. Hanabi had gone silent.

"O-néh-San . . ." her whisper died away in the wind; a bewildered expression crossed her face.

"She's gone. I—" Hinata stopped. She could not speak. "She left me." _It's all her fault. It's all her fault!_ she wanted to say, but she did not.

The wind had wandered away into forest, and for her, her father's house had become silent in the storm that awaited a sound to fill up its halls. This place was such a grave for her now!

Hanabi drew near and placed her hand on her shoulder—she had a gleam in her eyes. "She loved you," she paused and pressed her lips together to stop her tears from coming. "I love you! You're not alone!"

Hinata turned her face to her, her eyes filled with an emotion Hanabi could not fathom. "You're with a child—" she spoke in a quiet voice, her expression cool, "you need rest. Go to sleep."

Hanabi drew her hand back, her cheeks damp with tears. She hesitated for a moment, but turned away from Hinata. After taking a few steps, she stopped, with a wounded expression on her face, and spoke, "I gathered white Camellia for you. You look lovely when you take them to the temple. Okā-San always liked it." Then she walked away, her feet crunching and creaking on the leaves and wood, like a trail of sounds.

Hinata closed her eyes, listening; and from the dark, a treble broke and crashed into her breast, unleashing her passions. Lightning flashed and wind and rain came and whipped her raw. She took one step, then two, then three, and before she knew her destination, she was running barefooted into the forest—mad!

Her white kimono grew damp, her flesh gleaming, skin rippling—feet so cold. Her hair clung to her body, twisted round and heavy at the ends, dripping; and from between the creaking branches moonlight shone aslant; but she ran till the light became colder, till her heart roused in its lair, till her breast let loose screams of despair that poured forth from her lips in passion.

In the night she ran; against the rain she ran; into the wind she ran—such a lonely girl who sought her mother's bosom! Young blood roared through her veins, and her heart grew tired of her anguish, her love, in this hopeless search as she ran through the forest of gravestones. Quick breaths came from her lips, and she crashed against a tree and stopped. Then she slumped down on the muddy ground, out of breaths and strength, her eyes upon the grave of her mother—outlined against the dark amid the forest ghosts that whirled in the wild winds like a tempest.

Silence amongst the trees. In the storm's angry eye, it was silence, too. Her heart became the only noise of her flesh. Crows had come out of her nightmares to peck and poke and devour the dark flesh in hunger; and it had wailed as a babe without a mother's embrace and its sounds rattled her bones and she was an instrument in its symphony. It hurt so much . . . to just think of him and to not want him to be by her side, pressed against her in a ritual that made her flesh sing, sing, sing!

Such despair to sit at the foot of her grave and think of him, but she was always quiet in her memories, so quiet in all her years that she had forgotten her lips, her eyes, her embrace. _But for thee I create not the heaven from my flesh_. She shuddered and throbbed, and waters of anger and want rose from the leaden deep; and she wept, fingers clenching in the mud to uproot the lilies in thoughtless motions borne of sorrow.

And it bled between her thighs like a stabbed animal clad in white. She reached between her legs, and her fingers came away red—blood of ripe maidens. The damp of the night went into her bones, but a primal sensation had risen from the core for her pleasures. "It's all your fault—it's all your fault!" Hinata spoke with mad conviction, her eyes raw, fixed to the gravestone. "I-I won't do it anymore—not for you! Never for you!"

Eager, her hand slipped back between her dimpled thighs, and her finger went deep inside to unfurl her flesh's cravings. Her eyes fluttered and saw chakra particles become apparent like a revelation, bright in the dark; and in their midst she thought of him, her, and cast forth, into the winds, her dread, sighing . . .

# # # # # #

Nomura stood in his ceremonial clothes. Fog floated over the mounds in curling waves at his feet. His soft attire flowed in the breeze that blew inwards to the graves in whispers. He was tall, his figure commanding and graceful. Behind him, high up in the night's sky, was the waning luminary, and it made gleam his accoutrements upon which he had invested such care and regard.

He stood quiet, a smile in his eyes, as he looked at the boy, now a man, who stood in front of him, silent like his father's grave but so full of treachery that he had never enjoyed. For a few moments, he lent his ears to the Nature's steady tongues, which he had known like the changing tongues of Men.

"Such a mystery that you are the one to find another sign of this village's treachery," Nomura spoke, his mouth smiling. "You always surprise me, young Itachi."

Itachi did not speak, his countenance a white mask like always. Signs of night dropped heavily along his right cheek, but he appeared unfazed by the dark that dwelt in his breast like a crafty companion of years.

Nomura's gaze wandered to the right, and his smile grew. "Some of the names have faded away. Their families weep for them—they do not want the dead to remain without a name," he spoke and leant forward to gaze upon an old gravestone with carvings that had faded away after so many storms. "But you would agree that these are . . . sentiments of the living. Some of them want to forget, and some want to do nothing but let the dead live on." He reached down and felt the carvings with his hand as though he was lost in thoughts from the past.

"Such madness," Nomura spoke softly, straightened his back, and stood tall and dignified. Fog obscured the graves and climbed the gravestones, but Itachi stood tall in the midst of nature's tricks, with a hideous shadow of dread that floated behind him; and in all outward semblance, he possessed the ghostly visage of his father that mocked Nomura even after his death.

"You look so like your father, but you scarcely posses the benign nature he had," he said, his eyes fixed with an expression of deep thought on Itachi. "Such a shame, for he was a man loved by all. You could have been a man like him, but you chose to become something else—truly a tragedy that you are but an image of him, nothing more."

With a sudden movement, as if disturbed by a menacing thought, his eyes searched for a gravestone amid the trees and fog. His Sharingan appeared to guide him to his destination: a grave by the tree. The hard earth broke the sounds of his steps as he walked to the gravestone jutting out of the ground, with a few bright flowers nodding along the stone-grave.

Nomura settled himself down on the cold ground and rested his back against the tree-trunk. Then he spoke again, his voice rising above wind's murmurings, "my darling sister lies quiet in her stone-crib," he paused, and his breath came thick, "she does not speak. I cannot say I can forgive the man who ended her life."

And still Itachi said nothing. His eyes fixed on the moon that was half-hidden behind the clouds. Storms came and went—autumn was a dreadful season. The path that led to this graveyard from the village had worn away, but he had little desire in his heart to mend it . . .

"I heard such dreadful screams as I passed by your house," Nomura said in a calm voice that broke on the stillness that surrounded the graves, "you cause that boy so much pain—you haunt him. You have always been so cruel and cold to him, and one day, your cold nature will be the death of him.

"Then you will weep tears of blood in abundance—as I have, but your Mangekyō will not morph into something you would desire . . . as some kind of compensation for your terrible loss. Remember my words."

Then, struck by a nameless emotion in the heart, Itachi walked away, shadows succouring him back home, sounds of charms beckoning him from a grave behind him; and as he walked further away from his father's grave, he was benighted in the night . . .

"Remember my words, child," a voice spoke, and he opened his eyes to a gloomy room. She sat by him on the matted floor, with a small tea-cup in her aged hands. Rao did not have a smile on her lips tonight.

Itachi did not say anything. He looked down at the scroll that lay open on the small table. There was a brush in the ink-bottle, but he had not taken it out: the scroll was blank. He picked up the tea-cup from the table and took a sip. It was sweetened in a way he liked.

Rao reached out and brushed away the wrinkles on his haori, which was of the purest white. Then she brushed away the long black hair that lay over his shoulder; her shining eyes gazed at him from her face that filled with love—and more love; but he did not look back at her, his eyes focused on the dark near him.

"You should place more barriers on the door," Rao said and placed the cup down on the table; the tea had gone cold in her hands. "People will talk. I do not want anyone to cause you more distress."

He breathed in deeply, his eyes wandering the room: it was dark, and shadows filled the scroll-cabinets and stood menacing behind the partition screen; a steady, bright light, yellow in shade, spread out from the lantern on the table, but it was not enough to illuminate his surroundings.

At length he spoke, his voice heavy in a manner that lacked softness, "it will make the room oppressive for him. He might grow ill, and I do not want that for him when he is so weak. It is fine the way it is—I care not."

"Itachi, child, you—"

"It is _fine_ ," he cut across her in a tone of finality, his eyes hard as he looked at her, and she fell silent; and he looked away again into the dark, a side of his white face cast in shadows.

The hearth in his room had gone cold, but he had not bothered to kindle it again. Her toes and hands were cold. In the weak light, his form was erect, and his face filled with quiet storms she did not know how to assuage; and though his countenance was cool, he had a temper tonight, and she had not seen this side of him in so long.

In the damp and moisture of cold autumn nights, when he was but a babe, she used to take him into her lap and put him to sleep by the hot sunken-fireplace. The pot would whistle above the low flames that possessed a solidity of heat; and his lashes would flutter in distress as he would become aware of the sounds in his sleep.

And she took his little hand and pressed it in love, and put her lips to his little red ones that smiled in a dream. Then a lullaby of mountain-nuns poured from her lips that broke on the languor of air like a soft music; and she would lift him into her breast and feel his breaths on her lips, in her ear.

Now, a firm expression was on his lips, and his language breathed of his cold heart. She did not know how to make him happy; so she put her hand over his and felt a chill in his flesh, but she did not let go.

"Kiku—" she stopped and bent her head, "—she is no more."

Rao raised her eyes and saw a little surprise pass over his face. Then calm returned to his countenance, and he appeared in control again. He placed the cup down by the scroll and looked back at her again. "When," he asked, his voice cooler now.

"Last evening," she said and her eyes dropped beneath his strange gaze, "they want to bury her in our family graveyard—arrange a funeral for the poor girl."

He turned his face into the dark, as if to hide it from her. Then he half-turned to her and spoke, his voice deep-toned in its inflections, "she did not give birth to Sasuke's son—she is not family. Sasuke will never agree to this. He holds that place dear—a sacred abode of the dead in his eyes.

"He will hound me for this . . . foolish girl." He quietly half-placed his hand on his brow.

"They will create a fuss," Rao spoke and clasped her hands upon her bosom as if in prayer, her countenance radiant with love and sorrow, "you must let them have a small place. I do not want more of this for you. It breaks my heart."

But he looked to her, and his face was set in grim calm she saw very often these days—and nights. "Let them," he said, his expression unchanging, "they lied about many things and she reaped the reward in their place. I had warned them of this, but they were so greedy.

"I will not have them corner me through this. Tell them to leave their home for the other village without a whisper and bury her in the Clan's graveyard—or there will be consequences for killing their daughter."

"But the other girls—they might . . ." Rao's voice trailed off at the look in his eyes—yes, he had a terrible temper tonight!

"Do you want Sasuke to remain childless—without a companion?" he asked, his brow frowning in cool anger only he could exhibit, with such careless ease. "I do not want that for him. I want to see him happy—with a family of his own. He does not deserve their ire, and I will not allow them to exhibit it any longer."

"What will you tell the Clan, child?" Rao asked, her expression that of bewilderment in the light, her grey hair gleaming cold at the deeply-grooved brow. "This never would have happened had you not forced the girl upon him. I warned you, but you did not listen.

"You should have gone near Izumi, fulfilled your duty—but you did not. And Sasuke might never wake from this-this state. What will you do if he does not? You must give this clan an heir. You must. It is your duty!" She breathed heavily and beheld a wrathful gleam in his eyes that turned red—in such anger.

Itachi's fingers twitched on his thighs, and a light, quick breath came from his lips that showed a red hue. "How could you say such a cruel, hurtful thing?" he whispered; light dimmed, and his face appeared hazy in her gaze. The shadow went across his cheeks like water, but he chose not to look at her.

"Itachi, my child, you must!" Rao spoke, persistent, and laid back all the hair on his nape.

He sat in silence for a few moments, his breathing a little deep; and she gazed at the dreamy fury that melted into a deep shade in his eyes. At last, he spoke, and his voice was like a quiet stillness to her ears: "You should go to your house. It is cold here—you might grow ill. I am hardly around, and Sasuke is in no state to look after you. The servants can be neglectful.

"Take Izumi with you. I will call upon her when Sasuke recovers. I do not wish to see her for now." Then he was so quiet, his eyes slumbering again; but a cold, cold expression had changed his countenance, made it sinister and unkind.

Rao's eyes brightened into a soft smile and thick tears flowed faster down her cheeks. She leant up close and kissed his neck and lips, her hand soft on his cheek. She did not say another word and left the room and him in the dark . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : 'Shira bikuni' (the white nun) is another name for 'Yao bikuni'. They used to spread teachings concerning the "Blood Pool Hell" in the Jizo-hall. Refer to the **End-Notes** in the second chapter, **She Loves Me, She loves me Not** , for additional information.

For the Blood Pool Hell, you'll have to scour the internet for some information. I've come across some material, but it isn't that adequate as the concept of afterlife in Japan's folklore tradition's fairly complex; however, you'll have no difficulty in finding some themes (presented in a very simplified fashion).

 **Yatagarasu** , the giant eight-lengths crow, was sent by the heavenly deities to guide the future first emperor, Jimmu Tenno, on his way from Kumano to Yamato.

 **Higanbana** is species of spider lily that grows in Japan. It has quite a few names.


	66. Drunk on the Smells of Devil's Moths

**Chapter Sixty-Six** : Drunk on the Smells of Devil's Moths

# # # # # #

It was night, and a storm raged that spun out threads of noise. The house shook, uncertain, but he slept in the quiet cradle of his dreams, his face white in the crepuscular gloom of the room, a canvas for the moth. It was a dark shade upon his countenance, a little ink drop, with shades pretty and wings steady.

His lips parted, for a kiss, and the moth went inside his mouth in search of his heart, its sticky legs bitter like liquid-words on his tongue; and down and down it went along the slick walls of his throat where pulses of life travelled loud and vibrated clear. Then, with a breath hot, its frail shell was steamed off its body, and it metamorphosed into the Devil's pulchritude inside his throat and loosened a streamlet of a poison sweet.

The dewdrop burnt, like a sour aperitif, and a deep ache spread across the expanse of his chakra, framed rigidly in his body. A shudder went, a rippling snake, into his heart, which sent answering pulses in the same intensity, and his Adam's apple pushed out of his neck. He felt the new moth eat towards his trembling skin, which had burst sweat from its pores in pain and pleasure, its poison burning away layers of his flesh that was soft beneath the carapace that was human to touch.

At last, his alembic spirit, unable to distill the chemical sensations any longer, reflected his ache and want upon his countenance and his brows stirred—almost in a frown; but the moth continued to gnaw and nip and hurt him, from the inside, fluttering back to his lips in search of liberation from his cocoon; and in its wake, it left notches deep from which vivid liquid came out.

He sat up straight and rid his body of what was real, his hand reaching to his throat, his fingers hurting his flesh to create _this_ feeling to crush the other one—unsuccessful. His eyes blinked out a thin stream, as though ridding his body of pestilence, and then there was a dawn of moon in his vision, sky clearing to reveal a pearl amidst the dark; his mind was lost—lost in illusions, lost in memories, lost in dreams that assailed him formless now.

He was kneeling on the ground, and then he sighed out the winged Devil from his mouth, its purple wings a blur in his vision, soft like a kiss upon his lips; and it flew away into the world bounded by his crows: their necks escalated from bodies dark, their eyes watching him with eyes red. They cawed, and he did not have the strength in him to stop them.

Their sounds hit him harder than pebbles, and then they diluted to murmurings in the spinney where he sat. He raised his eyes and gazed upon his Lord, and he lacked mercy in his eyes—his chair large and sturdy and ornamented. The Lord widened his legs and placed his arms on the armrest, comporting himself in the manner befitting a True King.

His Lord's gaze—so heavy that the place where his neck extended to his backbone was bowed in a sharp arch. His gaze lowered in adoration. His long hair fell in his eyes and touched the sodden ground made of ash, bone, and dirt. A canopy of crows sheltered the place and lilies nodded about in the regenerating coppice of grotesque trees.

"My child—my sweet child," his Lord spoke, and he felt the voice touch his skin like a damp cloth. "Why do you run? Do you doubt my love?" He looked up, raised his head, this time and watched a rosy patch spread across his Lord's face and breast. Heedless of his weakness, his Lord's body was quiescent, like his crows, now.

A dark fell across his Lord's body and the chair he occupied, but _he_ could not get recourse to the sword to end this dream, end the Lord, end that memory. Gaudy red jetted from his heart and mapped the contours of his body. Then it spilt in his direction, a noisome odour in the world that rippled as though it was alive!

The vapours from the Lord's corpse became sweeter and went into the ground whose teeth chewed on his remains and spat out . . . more lilies that grew by the dozens about him—sweet, innocent, full of love. And his lips longed to smile at the sight of them playing like that, in his heart.

He widened his eyes, enlarged his vision, and his Lord evaporated into so many crows that took away a bit of his heart with them; and it was replaced with a grave that was occupied with the seeds of lilies. In that grave they grew—in his heart they cooed.

From the crevasse of his Lord's resting place, she rose upon the tar he had emitted, her body, naked as a babe's, a maze of white and rosy hues in the flicker, her hair pomaded into solid-ink down her back. She moved with a lusty stalk of predators, flanked by his crow's shadows—she was eerie.

His Lord had lain with her, and he had come from her womb, covered in blood, wailing. She had come to make trial of his love, which he never did possess, her eyes gleaming with love. Her arms hung loose around her growing belly, as though she carried more of the Lord's seed in her . . . to birth the incubus that coloured his dreams.

Her soft footfalls thudded a horrific rhythm on the ground. Leaves crunched beneath her feet and moonlight slid down her body in silver streams. The sounds she made pierced the quiet, pierced the calm, pierced the spirit into a bone-cold submission; and she reached out to him, and red ran across her lips in awe.

She spoke, and her words wrested . . . things from his heart: "I had made you from my heart, my womb. My boy, my sweet boy . . . you run from her—me. Come into my arms. Lay your head against my bosom, and I shall take you into my heart, my soul—it aches for your love!"

And love, red like Higanbana, red like roses, red like his clan's legacy, dripped from the junction between her plump thighs, white against red, and he could not stop looking at that place, from whence he began his journey of breaths and limbs—the place that had made him mortal . . .

Blood kept coming from her womb, congealing, forming thick globules over her thighs. And from them burst out winged Devils. They fell down like drops of slack blood. Then a wash of mist passed over them, and reinvigorated, they flew upon this world's breaths to become a new extension of his spirit.

She sat down before him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then a wound opened in her breast, and she pressed his face into its mouth. He saw her heart, cut up in two, still beating like twins inside a ripe womb.

"Do you see my heart?" she asked, thrusting a hand into his hair and passing the other one over his head in a tender gesture of love. "You have broken my heart, Itachi—you have broken it in two . . . "

Blood gurgled out of the shivering wound and collided against the roof of his mouth in slick streams—warm and sweet. It flowed down his throat in rich runnels. Her body shivered against his and she wept and by her tears she haunted him. He backed away as her skin and eyes oozed like melted tallow, expelling more blood that was thick tar.

"Why do you break my heart?" she whimpered with trembling lips. Her arms fell slack by her sides, and she looked up at the world that was still cold to her like the Winter. And crows wept in the sky and black tears rained on her. The womb and wound bled love and moths, and he could not look at her any longer; so he rose, away from her arms, but her blood in his mouth made him feel sick; the world spun like theater-dolls that danced from strings in his eyes _,_ and he fell fainting to the ground, pain and pleasure blent in the world, here and now, his body sizzling with the twisting of colours, voices, dreams.

The asperities of his world rose from his waking eyes, and he sensed one emit bright ichor to trace his cheek and throat. Then the droplets became so round, fought against gravity as they clove to the map of tiny openings in his skin, and fell back into the sky, an ocean of his Sharingan's dreams—a drouth in his eyes upon which his lashes trembled to let go—let go . . .

The sky pulled him in and its mouth, a beak, opened to devour him whole. The whole world lurched and rattled over his spirit, a cold apparatus of bones. His hair fell forward and streamed before his features, his breaths going into the endless black between the crow's gaping beak that was hungry for every last drop of memories in his eyes. Anon, red welled up in his gaze, and the sky closed its eyes and its mouth; the whole world fell back with a crashing sound that created a painful thrum in his bones that did not leave his system for so long.

He lay like this for what felt like hours in the quiet, counting his own breaths. The crow in the sky had gone to sleep, but he could still see ripples travel through its skin, which ruffled its feathers in a rush of shushes and flurry of black. The sounds vanished into his heart and mingled with the _thump-thumps_ like loose liquid; and he heard stirring on his right, and when he looked, he saw his Lord looking at him, lying by his side, his eyes dripping with love.

"You are a child— _my_ child," the Lord spoke, and he saw the white of his face in the stone-black of his Lord's eyes. The dry leaves stirred by the Lord's breaths brushed against Itachi's face . . . and it felt so real! Then he heard crunches on his left, and he saw the woman whose womb he had inhabited for months, a place that had created the hand that wrote her fate.

"You are a good boy, Itachi—you are _such_ a good boy," she said, and her breaths came out in soft huffs, her white dress smeared red at the supple breast that rose and fell as if burdened by her love.

Then Itachi felt a little weight on his breast, and he reached his hands to curl them around the little babe cooing and sleeping there. It smelt like lilies—just like lilies; and his heart sang like the moths fluttering upon the wind laden with the scents of love!

"Let it stay here—with me," she spoke, twisting her neck to look at him full in the face, casting him a look that seethed with love. Hair fell across her cheeks, and few strands went into her mouth from which she bled. "Let it—Itachi—Let it!" She convulsed with love, weeping again, and her writhing body opened the wound wide in her breast, and she bled some more till her whole dress was red with love!

Her limbs twisted uncontrollably till she appeared mad, and her sweaty arms and legs trembled as moths overtook them, of which she was so afraid: they came out of her mouth, her eyes, and her breast—so much love had the Devil filled her with! The babe became heavier and wetter on his breast and pressed his heart down with more love.

Itachi strained his neck and saw the left side of _his_ child's face resting upon his breast, in the nursing position, red in the bow of his lips, in the white of his skin, in the whites of his eyes; and his heart stepped up the speed and sound of the beats to a frenzied pitch; the whole world became one with his heart when he sat up and drew the child into his arms, into his breast—his body had gone so cold . . .

Itachi ran a hand over his child's hair that was matted in mud and ash and red. His eyes were voids; his limbs, stone. The child lay upon his knees as he watched the shade framed tightly . . . eternal the sleep in the child's eyes; and he laid back the hair and pressed his lips upon the brow, and his heart made the whole world dirl . . . his love bleeding from his gaze, endless.

His heart longed to hear the music of the child's breaths: it could not bear such a parting. His Lord had been eaten to the bones by moths, and he cared not; and the woman who had conceived by the Lord grabbed his child's wrist, pleading in tones sorrowful.

"Leave it with me—let it stay," she spoke, blinded by the Devils that had consumed her inside out—just a talking husk now, brimming to the full with his love, drunk on the smells of Devil's moths.

Itachi lifted up the child's body, which grew youthful in sleep, and stepped away from her; but she sat up, still stubborn, that he was forced to run her breast through with a sword sharp that skewered her to the ground, fertile with her red love. She jerked, leant her head back into the soil, and let loose a scream—then she burst into moths!

The child became heavier in his arms, but he did not care—he was still a child, _his_ child. He carried him in his arms to the clear water of his dreams—and then he drowned him, watching shimmering red rise to the surface in wispy strings, hoping . . .

Itachi's eyes opened to the faint shadows that lay across his roof. The eyes still played to the tunes of his dreams. He placed his hand over the eye and wiped away the blood across his cheek in straight lines. Then, as if the child beckoned him, he got up and walked barefooted to the prison in a limping gait, his senses going berserk, dreams dancing as shades along the manor's walls.

He could hear nothing above the sounds of red bubbles rising to the surface of his Sharingan's vision. Everything blurred and vanished behind his dream as he walked in the rain that diluted the lines on his face into pink. The dark in the corridor did not cause him worry: his eyes carved their own path in search of the child.

Itachi's breaths squeezed out of his lungs when he stopped in front of the prison door; he rubbed his fingers across the closed eye, and his fingers came away red. He opened the seal with the red and walked inside; his eyes saw nothing but the child that slept in the light.

He stopped when he reached him, his breaths calming. Then he sat down by the sleeping child's side and reached his hand to touch his brow—it was warm, a little clammy with sweat. The vision went away and colours and smells filled the room. His child had a cloth tied around his eyes to make him sleep; his expression was strained—did he dream terrible dreams?

Itachi caressed the child's head and bent down to press a kiss on his brow. The child stirred just a little, and the iron clanked around his right wrist. He backed away without a sound. He did not want to disturb him any longer; so he left the room, locked it behind him, and stood in the rain.

Then, as though strength left his body, he slumped down onto his knees in the garden that glimmered in the white sparks. Love and moth burnt in his breast, together, till he could not withstand the intensity anymore. He took off his soaked shirt, sitting in the rain that curled in the wind, whipping his back.

Itachi looked up and his eyes filled up with rain and red and reveries. He could not hear any sounds but the water that bubbled to the surface. The sky turned black and the crow looked back into his eyes, and he went delirious in the grip of poisons.

"Itachi-Sama—Itachi-Sama!" Tanaka came running, his back stooped. He sat down by Itachi's side and pressed Itachi's forehead against his shoulder. Itachi did not answer, quiet as a moth.

"Itachi-Sama, are you dreaming again?" No answer. "Let me take you to bed—you are not well . . . " he said in a voice filled with love and patted Itachi's head and back, as if he was his own child. He put chakra into his trembling arm and wrapped it around Itachi's waist. Itachi did not resist and went along with him.

By the time Tanaka put Itachi to bed, he was out of breaths. Tanaka puffed and his frail hands trembled, but he sat by Itachi's side as he waited for his fever to cool. When Itachi did not blink and close his eyes, Tanaka passed his hand over his eyes and closed them for him . . .

The whole day went by in thoughts. It was such a terrible dream with a ripe soil for paranoia, its threshold blossoming with misgivings; but he did not have time. Trouble was brewing, and he had to act before it reached his doorstep.

Now he stood in the evening light again, holding on to the Kunai made by the hands of his people, with its tip pointed at the visible green vein in his wrist. Serizawa stood by him, obedient; Kai stood there, too, less obedient and more apprehensive of the Head's decision. Jūgo stood in front, his face inquisitive. Yuu's head was bowed, as though the prospect of blood frightened him!

"Are you sure?" Jūgo asked, and his eyebrows nearly came together in a frown. Jūgo could not say he understood this man Sasuke so adored.

"You would not be here if I was not . . . sure," Itachi spoke with a little pause, then he drove the Kunai's tip into the skin, pushed it inward, and pulled it up and cut the vein cleanly in two. Blood jetted out in a squirt and formed an arc across his wrist that was white-as-snow just a moment ago. The streamlets dripped down to the floor in tiny splatters and dirtied the finely-crafted mat. His expression had not changed.

Jūgo adjusted the cloak over his shoulders and drew closer. His shadow was less imposing than that of the man before him, albeit Itachi was a little shorter than he. He positioned his hand above the wounded wrist and made his flesh merge with the vein that got reattached with organic stitches in a few moments.

Yuu, who had been holding his breath through the whole process, rushed to Itachi and wiped clean the wrist. When he looked upon Itachi's face after finishing the task, he did not see any shift in his countenance; whatever Itachi had resolved, he had resolved it within himself.

"Kai, take these two with you to the prison-cell," Itachi spoke and clamped his hand around his healed wrist thoughtlessly.

Kai gave a little bow of his head and stopped in his movements to the door and turned to Itachi, a little reluctantly. "Suigetsu is—he came by. He said he wants to see Sasuke," he said and lowered his eyes when he saw visible irritation appear in Itachi's face.

"He is still here?" Itachi asked and Kai gave a nod in silence.

Itachi looked away from him at the hue in the horizon, his irritation melting into a subtle expression that usually meant trouble for those who knew him. "You have grown so lax in your duties. I wonder . . . " Itachi said, and Kai lowered his head more as if he was filled with reverence and about to go into a deep bow.

When Itachi remained silent, Kai gave another bow, just out of habit, and left the room with Yuu and Jūgo right behind him. Itachi remained quiet for some time, watching the sky darken just above the dividing arc. Then he spoke, his voice cold like the coming winter in a manner that he meant what he said: "if this does not go as I have imagined, I want you to convince the people in your house to allow me to give Sasuke my eyes. He would—"

"Itachi-Sama!" Serizawa's said, startled, his hands moving forward with a sudden swiftness as though to grab hold of Itachi's shoulders.

"Let me speak," Itachi said, and Serizawa spoke no more as he stood in obedience to his clan's Lord. "He would require my chakra veins, as well. I do not want him to live a life of blindness, without the power he would require in my absence—the power that was his right and Otō-Sama's will. I see no reason to mock the dead."

"Itachi-Sama, you'll live a long and fulfilling life—you don't have to do this," he said, his tone affected by emotions, standing inside the shadow Itachi had cast upon him.

Itachi looked over his shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes were without the cold that had become their habit. He looked to the sky again and spoke, his voice a little soft this time: "I do not want Sasuke to be unhappy and grieve at my grave as he does now. He does not live. He only grieves." He pulled in a deep breath. "Life is uncertain—mine even more so. But Sasuke's life should never be uncertain. That is what I should ensure as his brother . . . and his father." Then Itachi left the room without looking at him, and he was left with no choice but to follow.

In the prison-cell, Sasuke trembled and whimpered. He was completely incoherent in speech, burdened by the fever that attacked his mind. Itachi had asked Kai to take Jūgo to his room, along with Suigetsu simply because he had insisted. Itachi wanted the man gone, but he had little patience in him to worry about his tricks—for now.

Karin stood with Yuu in the penetrating shadow of the room. The fire had gone cold in the hearth, and it was nearly dark outside. Serizawa struggled with the chain around Sasuke's wrist as he sat bowed in a thoughtless adoration befitting a worshipper. His body struggled with the shivers that assailed his limbs. He could not sit up.

When the chain clanked to the floor, a fire bloomed in Sasuke's eyes; it was something Itachi's mind had anticipated, but he was surprised just the same. Sasuke bumped into Serizawa and lunged at Itachi—his face crazed, dark.

Itachi senses did not register what had happened, his eyes bending upon Sasuke's sorrowful face, till Sasuke plunged the Kunai into his breast once, twice, thrice . . . each stab went all the way through to reach the wall behind him and released a jet of blood in Sasuke's face and a pulse of such pain in his body. Sasuke's arm swung forward to stab Itachi's breast the fourth time when Serizawa grabbed hold of his wrist and pushed him into the floor—he had snatched the special Kunai from Serizawa's waist, a gift from his late brother.

"I'll kill you!" Sasuke snarled, his face pressed into the floor. The Kunai had fallen from his blood-smeared hand, blood dripping from its gleaming-sharp edges to gather on the wooden-floor like a black stain.

Itachi's pink teeth clamped tight between the gums. He took in a breath so sharp and slid down to the floor, onto his knees, leaving vertical red lines on the white portion of the wall. His head bent with the pain in his body, and he could hear nothing, his eyes still on Sasuke.

He pushed Karin's arm away when she pressed it against his red lips, her flesh soft against his teeth. She made a cut into her arm with her finger-tips and brought it to his lips again. He did not break her skin, but when his lips closed on the wound, starved for relief, he could not deny that her blood was . . . the second sweetest thing he had ever tasted.

There was a slack richness to it as it went down his throat in languid trickles that closed up his wounds that stopped sending pain signals through his body. Green light glowed on his breast as Yuu healed him, his face enveloped by shock and fear. In a few moments, the pain went away and sounds returned . . . Sasuke was weeping again.

"Nii-San, I-I'm sorry," Sasuke whimpered like a child, shivering underneath the weight of Serizawa's arms. Itachi did not speak a word as he beheld his child with eyes soft and sorrowful, and his blood glistened bright-red against the hollow radiance of the evening sun . . .

# # # # # #

Izumi was a girl who fell in love with the older one: she was a girl who fell in hate with the younger one. It was a simple story for her heart. She had known it to be true since she had seen the twilight glow during the sunset of that autumn day, with Itachi by her side. The servant girl had told her that Sasuke had gone mad, and that Itachi had locked him up in the cell. _He's gloomy_ , she had said, and gloomy men often enjoyed the company of women.

Her heart fluttered like birds. It was a cruel thought, but she wanted to be alone with the man she loved! So she smiled like a girl so in love and fingered the letter in her hand, just to feel the sensations the paper gave off. She had written it with care and bold brush strokes. He would like it!

She looked at the sky, her kimono flowing in the light breeze that was replete with the scents she hated. They clogged up her nostrils and made her sneeze. Spring was better; summer, lovely. Her thoughts drifted along the waves in the sky, and a red colour reckoned upon the arc of the horizon, fading away with the dipping of the sun.

Then Izumi heard a sound and her heart stalled from the sky, like a bird. She grasped her kimono, raised up the layers just a bit, and walked into the shadow of the manor that seemed to be stretching forward towards the stone-pathway. The inside was quiet, but she could hear the sounds coming from Itachi's room.

The door was slightly ajar and a vertical beam of light stood between the door and the shadows. She tip-toed to the door and peered inside, and the scene that greeted her made her clamp her hand over her mouth: Sasuke was thrashing about, without anything covering his torso, as four men tried their hardest to keep him still; Sasuke's head was in Itachi's lap, who was rubbing his fingers gently against Sasuke's temples.

The sounds were louder here and flowed like waves that ebbed after striking against something invisible. A seal? She tucked the letter in her obi and leant forward, too curious to go back now. Itachi's face was unusually cold, colder than she had ever seen.

Gently, he brushed the hair from Sasuke's forehead and spoke, "what are you waiting for?"

Jūgo's teeth tightened down on his jaw—he was reluctant and afraid of what he might end up doing. He stilled Sasuke's arm, which had gone so frail with hunger and pain and illness, with one strong hand and looked into the older one's eyes without any fear. "This'll hurt him— _a lot_ ," he spoke, and though his voice shivered a little, he still managed to stress on the last two words with a resoluteness that came naturally to him: he was a man of the wild!

"I am aware," Itachi said and caressed Sasuke's forehead as he called for him in this mad state of mind. "He needs to feel pain for the veins to expel chakra into his system. Without it, you might as well just leave him mad."

"Without any anesthetic agent, he'll—"

"Are you under the impression that I want to kill Sasuke—kill my child?" Itachi cut across him, his tone and face incredibly sober, but Jūgo still felt mocked by his sincerity. "I have given him something. It will diminish the pain, but not enough to vanish it completely."

Then Itachi went quiet, his eyes upon Sasuke who dampened his cheeks with more tears, and his quietness told Jūgo to do what Itachi had asked of him; and partaking the grim sensation that pervaded the air, his breast swelled with a great breath. He bent over Sasuke and positioned his hands, with his palms facing inwards, on either side of Sasuke's head; Itachi held Sasuke's free hand down in his stead.

Veins wriggled out, and at his wordless command, their ends tapered off into needle-like points fit for penetration. Sasuke felt them break the skin on his temples, and his breathing stopped for a moment. Ripples of fear went through his body and vibrated into his tormentors' hands. His brow pinched with uncertainty, but with a return of realization, he felt a rush of the fiercest pain.

The veins burrowed further in and Sasuke filled his lungs to the brim with air. His mouth opened slowly, and the dip below his ribcage intensified so much that Itachi could count all of his ribs! Then he let out a scream so loud that it collided against the seal and went across the walls in waves!

Sasuke's body went into spasmodic movements, and his screams kept coming, each one louder than the last. His breast was held fast with strong hands, and it grew weary from the weight; his throat grew hoarse from screaming for so long that he started pleading, which all he could do to muster little whimpers, like a child.

For a little while, Sasuke just emitted shuddering breaths, his body going limp with oppression. Blood came out of his temples and collected in Itachi's palms, but Itachi could not tell how much pain he felt now. Streams of it streaked through his hairs that were still laced with grime and dirt for not having bathed his body for days.

Everyone sat in silence, but shadows came forward and announced night's arrival. Itachi raised his eyes and saw that the shadows on the paper-screen windows were gone. Outside, a soft wind puffed across the garden and rough leaves spun along the wet stones; the storm had passed—for now.

Sasuke's mouth gaped open and he clamped his eyes shut under the cloth that Itachi saw the muscles strain in his cheeks. His lungs heaved and fought for breath, and he made retching sounds deep in his throat. Then his face fell to the left and he expelled the contents of his stomach on Itachi's trousers.

Jūgo looked at Sasuke and then at Itachi with concern. "What's wrong with him?"

"It is a natural reaction of the body from the pain. It will subside," he said without emotion, watching Sasuke's body make a shivering movement each time he heaved and retched, which cramped his stomach. He had deposited nothing more than white slime on Itachi's black-trousers.

When Sasuke stopped, his breast rose and fell slowly with deep breaths, as though he had fallen asleep. Itachi grabbed a damp cloth from the side and wiped Sasuke's face and his trousers clean. He would have to ask the servants to bathe Sasuke, but maybe he would clean his hair and face himself . . .

Itachi put the dirty cloth aside and saw Jūgo back away with a nod. It was done. He looked down with a different vision and his breast filled with calm: the method had worked. Sasuke's veins were mended. It would take him a few days to heal (he was so weak), but he was not in danger anymore.

They all rose up, exhausted, and that was when Itachi spoke: "be seated, Suigetsu." Suigetsu pulled in a quick breath and sat back down. Others left through the door that led to the garden: they were not allowed to march through the house at this time of the night.

"N-Nii-San—you're here?" Sasuke's asked and enclosed Itachi's hand in his and shook it, as if to make sure.

"Yes," Itachi answered and Suigetsu had never heard such softness in his voice—he was such a strange man . . .

"I-I can't see, Nii-San," he said, his eyes bulging out under the cloth, "it frightens me. You'd stay, won't you?"

"Yes," Itachi said again, and that created a smile of relief and contentment on Sasuke's face; and as though he was a child who had played himself to exhaustion, he fell asleep immediately.

Itachi stroked Sasuke's head that deepened his slumber. Quite a few moments passed in this activity, and shadows grew thicker. "I do not want you speaking of this before Sasuke. I forbid it," Itachi spoke and that slight change in his tone made Suigetsu's skin shiver as the thin hairs stood at attention.

Suigetsu gulped down the anxiety that clutched his heart like a clenching steel-hand. "Ya think big ol' Jūgo would shuttup 'bout this? I don't know, mate. Ya have ta ask 'im, too. Don't throw the whole thin' on me," he said with a smile, and his right hand gestured for emphasis.

"He gave me his word," Itachi said, and Suigetsu's smile went away and a look of shock took its place. "He desires Sasuke's well-being, but you want to play games with him—children's games. That makes him different from you."

"Ya aren't being fair, Itachi-Sama," Suigetsu said, and he wanted to say more, but Itachi's eyes flashed scarlet—he was not in the mood to talk this out.

"I would tell Sasuke that he was poisoned during his mission—hence his fragile state. So that is what you would say to him, as well," Itachi said, looked down briefly, and returned his eyes to Suigetsu. "That is what Jūgo would say. That is what Karin would say. That is what everyone would say, for mistakes create troubles and troubles create tragedies. Simple, is it not?"

Suigetsu gulped and nodded. He did not speak—he had nothing to say to the man who truly made him taste the most exquisite fear. He watched whilst he stroked Sasuke's hair, his other hand delicately laid against Sasuke's left cheek.

"Do not mention Sakura to him. He really does not need to recall . . . every unpleasant business," he said and looked down with a strange curiosity in his eyes, which had softened his eyes against the cold again. "Leave."

Suigetsu emitted a loud breath—this was not how he had hoped for this to end; but he still had things to do. He could still make it work. He said nothing to Itachi, rose to his feet, and left from the room; Izumi walked away, too, without another peep . . .

Hours went by and wind grew a little rough. Izumi sat in the guestroom by the fire, the letter tucked away in her obi. She wanted to leave, but the letter had compelled the girl in her to stay—that and Rao had also given her a letter for Itachi. Not that it was important, but it was a good excuse to stay.

She sat bent-legged on the mat, not caring about the lady-like manners in Itachi's absence. Smiling, she took out the letter, unfolded it carefully, and looked at the writing. Roses faded from her cheeks at the sight of the ugly letters—she could have asked Hana to make them for her. She was such a fool!

Izumi was still battling with her anger when the door opened and Itachi stood in the aperture, looming tall. She immediately hid the letter under the makura and sprang to her feet in haste.

"Why are you here?" Itachi asked, at which she made a bow to him.

"L-Letter—" she answered, trembling.

"What letter?" he asked, and she noticed that his tone was a bit harsh—he seemed tired, irritated.

"From Rao-Sama." She kept herself composed and pulled out the scroll from her obi. To her immense satisfaction, he came into the room, closed the door behind him, settled himself down cross-legged by the hearth.

Izumi sat down beside Itachi and smiled when he took the scroll-letter from her hand. She wanted to read the letter, too, but it would have been so imposing; so she watched as he unrolled the scroll and read the letter in silence.

 _In this failing season, I wish you well, my child._

 _I love you with all my heart, and I forgive you—I will always forgive you._

 _Kami will protect you—always._

That was all. Itachi put the letter down upon the mat, his eyes on the flames. Then he leant forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and rested his face in his hands. His back curved and he stayed in this position for several long moments of complete silence. Izumi had always seen him look so rigid—this was new for her.

"Itachi-Sama, are you—" she stopped, hesitant—he made her afraid for some reason; but she mustered a bit of courage and spoke again, "are you a'right? I-I wrote a letter for—" Then nothing came out. Words strangled her throat. She cursed under her breath and that got his attention; and he pulled his hand away, straightened his spine, his back taking the form of a rigid sword, and looked at her in a manner no one would wish to tempt a second time.

But Izumi was stubborn. She would tell him that she loved him, and no one would stop her—not Sasuke, not anyone. He was not here to snatch her letters away from her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her: "when did you come into the house?" he asked, his manner of speaking a little strange, tempting in a way she did not understand.

"Half an hour ago?" Izumi lied, looking down. "No one was here, so I let myself in. I—I wanted to speak to you." Then she raised her eyes a little and peered at him and his soot-like lashes and the sensation that clouded his eyes. He looked . . . different, but not in a way she wanted.

"Speak to me about what?" Itachi asked her another question, his voice a little strained as he looked at her. The moth's essence had stirred in his limbs again, sinister vibrations that roused his flesh: he had taken its poison, out of the need to soothe his nerves, so many times now that even a slight weakness of his spirit made it rise from his gut to fondle his spirit, in such perverse ways. Now that that woman who enticed his flesh was not here, she would just have to do . . . to purge it, to expel it from his body.

Izumi sat so close to Itachi that she saw a purple vein bulge through the skin of his neck, like a thin and long snake. His left eye twitched, and he moved closer till she could see the purple threads spread across his Sharingan, like poison. His breath fell across her lips, and it was sweet.

"I wrote it f-for—you," she said, her cheeks going red with passion.

"For me?" another question as he gathered a strand of her hair between his fingers. "You enjoy the sensations the thoughts give you from _that_ autumn evening? Strange . . . " Then he rubbed the lock between his fingers as if it fascinated him.

Izumi did not answer. He placed his hand just below her neck, his finger-tips gliding across her collar-bone, never truly touching, and pushed her gently down on the mat. She wanted to resist, but . . . he mesmerized her, all fresh-skinned and beautiful in the light of the fire.

He bent down and balanced himself by putting his hand on the mat, his other hand busy undoing her obi. This was not how she had imagined it—so sudden and without love. "W-Wait!" she ejaculated and took hold of his wrist. He stopped and gazed down at her with such curiosity that was odd for his countenance.

"Is this not why you came here? I thought you desired this union," Itachi spoke, tilting his head a little to the left as though he was seeing her for the first time. "If you do not, then—"

"No, I—" she stopped and her hand trembled around his now.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice dipped in a whispery tone, his eyes colder than stones, flecked at the cores by something that made her tremble; but she had wanted him to make love to her for so long; and he was here now, looking at her, that she released her grip and allowed him to discover her . . . the way he wanted—for now.

He undid her obi in silence and pulled open the front of her kimono and let it slither down to the sides. Her breasts were plump, peaked with heat: sweat dotted her body all over, a map for his gaze. His lovemaking was complicated—if she could even call it that. His hands hovered near, his finger-tips giving off chakra and sensations to the pores in her skin, which consumed the particles with hunger. This was so . . . new for her blossoming core.

Itachi did nothing intense, as though her pretty body and white skin did not interest him. He just traced the pronounced hollows from her hipbones down to her thighs; but his chakra kept flowing in, and she found it harder to breathe. She closed her eyes when he slid her undergarment down her legs and pried her thighs open with his hands.

Pin-pricks of dull light floated against her eyelids, and when he lay onto her, she took a swallow of his scent—he smelt noxious and sweet and strange. What was this smell? She did not have time to dwell on this as he shifted and his hand reached down to part the moist curls on her genitals.

When he probed her open, she opened her eyes to look at the deep dip where his clavicle met his shoulder, enveloped in sweat. He grasped her hip, and pressed his hips into hers, his arousal thick between her thighs, which glided into her at such a slow pace that her breath broke, and she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, lifting herself up to slant her lips over his throat.

And she bled from that place, a virgin no more, and he had not said a word, had not passed a breath for her loss. She felt . . . full with him as he stroked her over and over again, feeling her muscles tightening sweetly around him. Her breaths kissed the pulses that beat like tempests in his veins.

And still he said nothing, and still he did nothing—more than merge his flesh with hers without a heart. And the lover who loved him took heart and fell back on the mat inside his shadow and squeezed his hips between her thighs, but she knew he did not feel the love she felt, and her heart could not bear his cold nature; so she wept, and her breast puffed in and out at a fast rate.

He stopped and looked down to her, and he spoke this time: "why do you weep? I was surprisingly gentle with you—when I do not care for such frivolities."

Her lower lip pushed out but she said nothing, and he began moving inside her again, his thrusts harder, deeper now. Her body felt sweet when she spilt her want, but as she turned her head to left, tears welled up and blurred the letters Rao had made in her letter—they were prettier than the ones she had made, clumsy like her.

His last two breaths came short and sharp, from deep in his throat, and he transported his seed into her womb. Then he backed away without a sound, zipping himself up, and she saw a kind of disgust in his countenance of the whole matter, as though he never wanted to mate with her.

The look never left his face, and he left the room without speaking to her. She lay there, feeling the wind cooling the burning from her pleasure covered body; then, as she became aware of his seed flowing out of her that was without his chakra, she wept . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : **Incubus** , archaic, a nightmare.


	67. A Lonely Lover

**Chapter Sixty-Seven** : A Lonely Lover

# # # # # #

 _Permanent thy night, let the moon come_

 _In the kingdom of thy gaze, the child swum_

His night, this night, was inlaid with shades strange: there was a wisp of deep purple along the arch of the horizon, a smoke of the darkest shade that filled its extremities, like slips of fish in the main. A tumult of silence in the receding ebb of tides, shattered in the room by the child's wails.

He clung to his breast, wailing, the sounds thrumming through his body like a horrific tune. At last, unable to withstand it any longer, he sat up, drew the child into his arms, and patted his head and back, softly . . . but he would not stop weeping. He caught "I can't see", "Nii-San", and "hurts" between the great sobs that broke his voice that hiccupped in and out in the most terrible manner. The noises lanced through his heart in the dark room where the fire in the hearth had gone cold.

He sat like this for so long, with the child that trembled and wept in hysterics in his arms, face buried into his breast as though he searched his mother's teat for comfort, hands grasping his nightshirt in powerful fists. Moments passed by and the dark diluted into a lighter shade around the white globe in the sky. Then moonlight came and roamed in his room through the night, and by that time, the child had exhausted himself so completely.

He had not spoken a word of comfort to mollify the child's distress: he never listened to him in such a state; so he always let him unleash a tempest of sobs and shaky words that made a tremble shake his body like the newest sapling of lily, which stayed uncertain in the autumn's breeze and he stayed uncertain in the emotion's storm—zephyr from the night, so full of autumn's love that flowed into his spirit.

The child wrapped his plump arms around his neck and wept with excessive severity, as though he had located a new strength in his lungs and vocal cords. The babe was in pain . . . and he did not know what to do. There was no medicine, no Kinjutsu to lessen the ache that flared in his unseeing eyes, from the truth and illusions he had sowed into the soil of his dreams.

He had grown so weary of these nightly episodes: they drained him, made him feel helpless, caused him great grief. His compeer had gone and drowned himself in death's waters, but he was left behind to pacify a child's burden, which was greater than a man's. His hand reached up, his fingers tangling in the child's clammy and matted hair, and he noticed that he had developed a fever again: his skin burnt like fire under his cold, cold fingers.

"Sasuke?" he asked softly, his voice lingering between the sobs that came weaker from the child's lips; his small lungs could only work for so long—he had no energy to draw great breaths and put them to good use. There was no answer, just a repeat of half-spoken words Itachi could not even understand anymore; so he laid him down upon his lap, and immediately, Sasuke pressed his palms into his eyes and grimaced and emitted a string of terror-filled screams that were so broken now, his heels digging into Itachi's thigh, his back bowing as he jumped, his eyes expelling little spurts of red burdens that floated like vivid strings down his pretty, pretty cheeks; he could not tell the blush apart from the red, lenified by the translucent tears that just . . . flowed, endlessly.

He beheld him writhing and weeping in pain for some more moments that weighed heavier and heavier on his spirit, which rallied against his coming decision, and he did not have it in him any longer to watch him in such a state that made his heart ache so much; so he, with a heart heavy, picked up a cup of water from the low-table, wounded his finger with the nail of his thumb, and dropped a single drop of his intoxicating blood into the water. The poisons still persisted in his blood and spirit (all for the better); and he gifted this corruption to the babe's spirit, in a vain attempt to ease his own suffering and that of the child's.

The drop spread and faded so quickly in his gaze. Then he placed his hand under Sasuke's nape and helped him drink it; and, oh, he drank it with such relish, smacking his lips together as though it was honeyed milk, quieting down like a lily when it grew motionless in the wake of the passing breeze. It had left its breaths on his lips that smiled in love . . .

He viewed his child's calming countenance and breaths; then he kissed his head and placed his hand over his eyes; and Sasuke, in that sweet repose, was so content. The pained expression slowly melted away, and a smile, a lovely, lovely smile, adorned the red bow of the child's lips that he could not help himself from kissing his brow again.

"See? If you close your eyes, it's also dark," he spoke in a boy's softer voice, happier than the child, and told Sasuke a story he loved to hear, often: "in the lands to the west, Indra inherited the Sage's legacy. It was the place where the God-Tree sprouted, and a flower bloomed that possessed the first Sharingan. You remember that I showed you a scroll about this, don't you?" He smiled, and the child smiled, too, in sleep, his lips radiant and soft like roses, a shade deeper than Higanbana.

"The Bijū-daemons were attracted to that place, and they often gathered there, bewitched, and many hosts died there, too . . . " and whilst he spoke, moonlight took a flight and spread its flurrying garment across this room—for so many years it had graced his room's walls in silence that he did not think he had ever known it to leave him be.

Now the child's head lay in his lap, and he, in the flower of his youth, was no less content in the pleasure-abounding deep of his dreams. His Genjutsu-casting eye was open, and Itachi peered into the changing shade of his eye with much curiosity. His lips moved and he continued the tale Sasuke loved to hear in his childhood: " . . . there, earth's breaths rose from the fields and he created the abilities to harness them. It was in his blood—this power.

"He sowed the fields with his blood and reaped the reward at autumn's peak, its equinox. During the great battle, the earth answered him with chakra breaths—and he turned the tides, drove his foes out, and created our Clan there . . ."

Sasuke emitted a soft breath as though he could hear his stories in his sleep; and at this natural gesture, chakra particles rose about him. They dripped from the earth, as though sky held the pull this time, and floated in the air like so many shiny fingerlings.

Then Itachi looked down again, and this time, he plunged into the ether, trapped in such a small world, of his brother's eyes. When his feet touched the rippling waters in Sasuke's Sharingan, memories rose, nourished by what his eyes saw, what his heart felt, what his spirit knew—a mind's world was a toy, and Man was its architect, but he was the architect of Sasuke's dreams, maker of ephialtes that haunted him, always.

There, in the shallow water, his child's bones, flesh, blood trembled. His crows had murdered him last time; so he sat down and picked him up . . . bone by bone, flesh by flesh, blood by blood, till he had the means to make him whole again in the way he wanted.

A red cord came from his belly, hooked into the remains he had fished out of the water, which was more clear now, and formed a fluttering membrane around the bleeding bits: little fingers, tiny toes, and itsy-bitsy eyes, heart, and lungs—he was in pretty pieces, flowing from his fingers like womb's water; veins sprung from the membrane and burrowed into the fleshes that were in ruin. The world surrounding him during this blessed conception was in autumn.

He sat like this for so, so long, living through the moments that passed as slowly as seasons in this world; and he watched as defined bits melted away into molten flesh, a less-defined form, and merged to become a single clump that put out vibrations to let him know that it was alive and germinating—right there in his arms. The cord took from him his spirit, and burgeoned roots that poured it into the thing that was the root of his hallowed, perfervid love . . .

The clump, as nights turned into day and back again, grew out limbs and fine features formed on its tiny face. Then it kicked in the water where it was immortal, restless to come out, and when a balmy wind of summer simmered on Itachi's back, his pained breaths went into the grave of air. The membrane trembled in his hands and a terrible, terrible ache spread inside his belly that possessed . . . nothing to hold a child—Nature had taken his right to birth him. It was a sorrowful fate that left him vacant there, but he had accepted it (so long ago).

The caul ruptured; and a viscous mixture of water and blood went down his arms that trembled with an unseen exertion, his breaths coming fast and heavy, sweat pouring from his body in clear streams, skin blushing on the cheeks. Then a sudden calm impregnated his system, as if something had come to pass, and he expelled a solid and long breath of relief.

He ripped away the caul's remains, and all that was left in his arms now was a dead babe without breaths. A soft rain descended and washed away the signs of birth from the babe's body that was still like a stone, quiet like a toy; so, compelled by unending love, he bent his head down and touched the little petal mouth with his lips and bestowed the sleeping body with his breath! The warm sigh, from Lord's lips, percolated through its body and soul, and in a moment, he saw trembles travelling through the tiny fingers; then, like a little toy, the babe opened his eyes and beheld the white face of his mother, his brother, his father . . . he did not know what this thing was, which held him in its arms, and he became so afraid.

He wanted to speak, but he did not have the tongue, so he emitted a sputtering cry in little coughs, his lungs working with full force to voice his displeasure: he was hungry. Answering his pleas, the big thing rose and ripped away a part of its garment to reveal a flat-teat. His eyes saw a white pearl dancing upon the pebbled tip; and his tongue peeked out by Nature's design and his mouth closed around the nipple and his eyes closed in contentment as milk filled his mouth in spurts—it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, the most delicious thing a Man would ever taste as a new mortal. Oh, so sweet, so lovely that he relished it with all the love his little heart allowed, filling his belly with all the love his mother gave him . . . he could still taste the sweetness of mother's milk on his tongue, here in his mind, after all this time. Such a strange place . . .

The cord had fallen away, and he had become the bride of Time, with Sasuke in his arms, whilst he walked to the shores of the babe's endless dreams. Sasuke had sprung to birth again from his Lord's womb, his belly full of mother's milk, his breast calm, his eyes watching his mother's eyes; and this time, his lips moved and a heavy voice, which Sasuke assumed to be his mother's, poured from his lips: "you chased the moths that floated to the purple lilies. Is that not true?" his mother said, and Sasuke took in a deep, deep breath, emitted a profound exhalation, and stuck his small, pink fingers into his mouth. His mother smiled at the innocent gesture.

"Sakura did nothing with the pellets, you sweet child," his mother spoke again whilst he suckled on his fingers, enjoying the lingering taste of milk that coated his lips. His mother's smile had deepened; and he had never seen a thing as beautiful as his mother: he loved her beauty and her milk and he saw his whole world in her eyes. With this realization, he took the fingers out of his mouth with a pop and emitted cooing sounds that said that he loved her with all his heart, all the purity it could afford him.

There were teeth in his mother's smile and she bent down and kissed his lips and her black hair slid like silk against her white throat that fascinated him so; and so, to satisfy his curiosity, he reached out a plump and uncertain hand, grabbed hold of the strands, and took them into his mouth. The black things did not have any particular taste . . . but they, unlike her rich milk, possessed a strange texture. _This would do_! he thought happily, cooing again.

She let out a deep and short sound of amusement and the bulging projection at her throat moved in rhythm with her breath. _What was that protruding thing?_ he thought, nearly beside himself with excitement! His mother was beautiful and peculiar; but he had no time to think and investigate, for he felt sleepy. Soon, the world shrank to a single point in his eyes, and he saw his mother's, his beautiful mother's, face fade slowly like smoke in his vision, her smile lovely in the light that danced across her lips like faeries—a smile that was vernal on her winter-face. He let out a weak sound of protest, for he wanted to know his mother more, but her milk sloshed in his belly, and for the time being, he was content . . . so he slept before he could hear Danzō say "trap" and "kill" in glimpses of Minato's house, before he could hear Suigetsu (was he Suigetsu?) tell him to run away, before he went hurtling into the fields of lilies, with an agitated heart. Everything vanished in his mind; his mother's words were strong, and he loved her, and he believed her, always. And what were lies to a babe? Just words of love!

The child cooed now, in a deep sleep, his lips smiling in such innocence, radiating his features that were the most profound exhibition of beauty that he would ever see; and he had loved him then, and he had loved him now, and he had loved him always, in the ocean that filled his world with thoughts, wants, passions. Outside this world, everything moved in autumn, but in here, it was spring for his heart.

Then he heard a knock in the outside world, and he looked on his right and left the child sleeping on the shore of memories that were . . . new for him now, again, then. He retreated, and the bright world went into the dark and merged with it and became night in his room. Sasuke was sleeping, and Itachi moved his hand and closed his eye.

"Come in, Karin," he spoke, and took a lock of Sasuke's hair between his fingers and observed it.

Karin came into the room, her feet hesitant. She closed the door behind her and stood by the tall cabinet in obedience. The room was plunged in a deep grey shade, but there was light that radiated about Itachi and Sasuke, from the hearth. The door to the garden was open, and moonlight floated into the room in clear shafts and illuminated Itachi's and Sasuke's figures: the older one was dressed in his Anbu uniform.

"Sit down," he said, still busy with Sasuke's hair, and Karin obeyed. She took three trembling steps and sat down on the cushion. It was warm here in a comforting manner.

"He never cuts his hairs in the right manner," he spoke in such a tone as though he was speaking to himself, "look how rough they have become—uneven, unkempt, unruly . . . " Then he pressed Sasuke's wild hair down with one hand. Karin did not know what to make of it, so she said nothing. The man was so strange . . .

"Where is Suigetsu?" he asked and looked out to the garden that was dark in the night, his fingers resting against Sasuke's temple.

"H-He—" she stopped and cleared her throat, "he's waiting with Jūgo where you asked him to."

At this he looked at her, and her heart stopped at the sight of the intensity contained in his eyes. She could not sense what it was, but his eyes, and the passion contained in them, terrified her spirit.

"And suddenly he has grown so obedient," he spoke in a way as if this was a question, and a smile blossomed on his lips showing a hue that resembled . . . the sweeter shade of spring's bride, which was spread, on the corpse-white of his beautiful face. He was a terrifying man.

She did not say anything, her eyes on Sasuke's face, and she noticed that he looked calmer, tamer than before, in sleep. Did Itachi . . . do something to him? She wanted to ask, words hanging like strung corpses from her tongue, but she did not possess the bravery and courage to challenge the older one in the night of his domain.

"I want you to do something," he said, and she sat upright with a half-bounce, and moved a little to pull out a little slip of paper from under the lantern, which was not lit. "It is a daemonic-essence Fuin-Jutsu seal—a base-seal."

He turned a little to her, holding the slip between his fingers as delicately as he held his blades, and prompted her to take it from him. She bent forward, still too hesitant to go anywhere near him despite Sasuke's presence (but he was asleep, and she was a lonely lover whilst he slept, all innocent to her worries), and snatched it from his fingers in a jerky movement. The symbol shocked her, and she spoke before she could stop her mouth: "But this—this is high—"

"High treason?" he interrupted her speech softly, his features cool, "I am aware. I want you make a replica of it, with Sasuke's chakra as the root. The Uchiha chakra is at its peak in these nights when the moon is full and high. The seal will mature quickly—just like the one on your forehead." His eyes shrank and turned red.

"It will protect his mind from intrusions—even if _I_ am the aggressor," he said, and this shocked her even more, and unlike his trained expression, her countenance betrayed her too soon, and he smiled at the honesty of her features.

"Are your surprised by my honesty?" he asked, and the chill in his voice went straight through the core of her fear that released waves of tiny trembles in her limbs. "Do you believe this to be so easy? You can tell the child what I told you, word for word, but it will not change a thing . . . for you.

"Oh, so foolish. You assume that things would proceed on with such ease, but life is so uncertain. You can put yours in the tightest fist of your hand, but what of others? You can only put so much inside your fist . . . " and then he said nothing, but when his words ended on a whisper, her spirit was a place that had taken all of her fear into its substance; and now it mirrored the fears that resided in her mortal frame since her conception.

"Get it done," he commanded, carefully settled Sasuke's head on the futon, and left the room with a horrific aura about him; and when she could sense his presence in the house no longer, she let out a small whimper of anguish . . .

Night was still young and dark, like his heart, and was still mysterious and direful, like his spirit, and was still beautiful and perfect, like he was. She looked at him, his application-scroll in her hand, and she did not know how to answer him. He was quiet and threatening—a combination that was his manner of conduct.

"The Daimyō's councilman would come soon, and you want a leave now—why?" Tsunade asked, looking at Itachi's cold eyes that set off vibrations in her heart. She had really begun to resent him; but she resented Danzō far more. Oh, how hard life could be, sometimes . . .

"It is a personal matter, and I have not taken a leave in so long—it is only fair," he said in a voice that did not hide his authoritative demeanour all that well. Kami, she really abhorred his bearing that blurred the lines between threatening, cunning, and passionate in such diabolical ways.

" _Fair_ ," she repeated in annoyance, and an angry smile diffused into blotchy colours across her cheeks. She did not look to him, for he always looked predatory in the night's darkness, and took out the wooden-pen from the ink bottle; then she scribbled a few lines that accepted his request. When she was done, she put the pen back into the bottle and let the ink dry on the scroll. The silence in the room made her uneasy . . .

"You won't be able to shield Sasuke forever," she began and reached for the sake cup to calm her nerves, "the councilman won't back down without an inquiry. I just wanted you to know that—"

"Who created the tunnels around the village?" he waylaid her, quite suddenly, and surprise was apparent on her face in the full-moon's light. She took a hasty sip, a hue concentrating across her cheeks in a clearer red shade.

"They were built in the war-time, after Tobirama-Sama's era—right about the time Root was created," she spoke, took two noisy sips, and put the cup down. "Why do you ask?" And he smiled at her question.

"No particular reason," he almost whispered, his eyes on the scroll. "The ink has dried." She looked down at his comment and licked her lips to savour the taste of sake, a thoughtless action.

She rolled up the scroll and held it out to him. He took it from her hand, a question apparent on his lips. "Did Sakura learn Sensing to keep a track of Yamato's pellets?" he asked and took the scroll from her hand.

"No," she said deeply, and an angry young beauty shone through in the silver light by the grace of Kami—and her talents. He did not say anything, but answered with a silent smile and left the room and her heart, vibrating with a new intensity . . .

# # # # # #

When morning rose, Izumi decided that she would stay with Rao for tonight. She did not want to see him—for now. She was so sore between the legs, and albeit that tight channel ached for him to fill her, she was more thoughtful and reasonable than her genitals . . .

She was a lonely lover who did not understand him: he smelt strange, but sweet; he behaved coldly, but sweetly; his manner was the harshest, but sweetest. At least, that was what she believed when they were joined together during mating.

She had gone to his house with Rao's missives, and he had coaxed her (without words!), with his impassioned eyes, to lay with him—several times a day. After the fifth (?) time, Izumi did not think she had it in her to feed her want anymore; so she told him that she had to leave, and to her immense surprise, he said nothing to stop her. What sort of man was he?

She was a half-Uchiha—her mother was of noble birth—from her father's side, and she could sense his chakra roaring in his body during the act. Last time, he had laid her prone on the futon, parted her thighs just a bit with a lazy movement of his hands, which were a bit hotter than usual, and penetrated her from behind. He had not bothered to remove a thing from her body—just the undergarment she wore. The want of a deep conjoining made him impatient, she assumed.

Her lower body rocked with his strokes, and she felt . . . so pleased at their union that the thoughts of love always left her mind with the trembles he excited in her. A smile appeared and retreated about her lips, and her vision focused on the vein that swelled purple in his wrist.

She did not make much of it, mewling as her release was imminent; and when she experienced signs of his impending ejaculation, she did not sense his chakra, at all. And that . . . filled her with sadness again. He had told her that _this pleasure was a temporary food for the body, not for the spirit_ ; and she did not know how to compel him to rethink this matter.

He swayed between controlled cool, harsh, and hot passions by turns, and she did not understand how to conquer him and make him hers. She grimaced, sitting by Rao side in the library: it was smaller than the one in Itachi's house, but his house was bigger than this one, after all.

The coals pop-pop-popped in the hearth, but her focused thoughts went to him again: He was so beautiful, and the weight of his body on hers was lovely; his presence inside her body, lovelier; he smelt like the sweetest of perfumes when he mated with her, released sweat that possessed a concentrated smell of . . . something that was enticing; his eyes cradled microscopic mottles of a sublime shade from dusk, almost purple; and where his long throat merged organically with the shoulder, his skin shook in the subtlest of ways, tiny veins springing up with the hues that possessed his eyes like Devil's spirits . . .

She closed her eyes and remembered him some more: why did he not love her? A frown invaded her brow and stayed there this time. Sasuke . . . he was recovering and he was pulling away from her. She felt helpless, so helpless.

"Itachi-Sama doesn't want an heir?" she asked, not caring of etiquettes this time.

Rao closed the book and looked at her and her temper. She smiled. "Itachi expects Sasuke, his son, to recover," she said and picked up another book from the cabinet, "he does not want anyone else to have his legacy, but he will change—he has to." Then she said nothing, and Izumi grew even sadder than before . . .

Outside, wind rose with the dipping sun. This would be a colder night. The horizon had turned a soft red, and mountains appeared taller and menacing in the dark that came from their midst. The valley of lilies must have been enveloped in a make-believe night.

"Young Elders are growing restless about that Torune business—probably Kiryu—and you are leaving?" Nomura spoke, and he spoke as firmly and deeply as always, his countenance set in an expression that caused Itachi to feel . . . minor irritation.

"A personal matter—you need not worry yourself," Itachi said, and his gaze went back to the horizon again that was vivid like a Tayū's kimono now—deep red and beautiful.

"You have grown insouciant in conduct—a welcoming change," he said, and a smile went across his sober face. "I will watch over Sasuke whilst you are gone." He stood up, and his garments unfurled like the smooth movements of crystal clear waves.

"Sasuke is protected. You should worry about your—"

"Oh, hush, you rude boy. Time has taught you to train your tongue, but it has taught you no manners," he cut across him, and his mouth moved harshly as though he desired to scold him more, but he softened his face. "I am fond of Sasuke. Such a poor boy—left to survive at your whims. You never let him live."

Nomura's gazed probed his face, and it was cooler than he remembered. When Itachi said nothing, he continued: "you hide your worries with this mask—so well that it betrays you. You would not have seen that you were in the wrong had it not been for Sasuke. His absence terrifies you. Otherwise, you are as cold as winter to the boy you claimed to love so much."

"I was never in the wrong," Itachi spoke and stood up, meeting his gaze with as much severity as he could manage, but Nomura had more to spare. He smiled, a meaningful smile that lacked forgiveness, and matched Itachi's cooled wrath.

"You will cause his death—always a slave to another's cause," and with that, he left the sitting room. Itachi really resented this man . . .

# # # # # #

Night came faster than he had hoped, but Karin's progress with the seal surprised him, in a pleasant manner. "You made it so soon—how?" he asked, and she smiled weakly: she had lost quite a bit of her girlish enthusiasm since yesterday.

"It's something that shouldn't concern you," she spoke, faking a brave voice—a child's imitation of an adult.

"Oh, a secret between children?" he said, a sweet amusement filling his voice. He did not press her anymore on the matter and gestured her to take her leave.

He sat in silence by his sleeping brother's side and watched as the seal matured and faded away in his red vision. Hours went by, and he could not see it rippling like the slimy remains of a caul upon Sasuke's face anymore. He looked at the sky and the moon that beckoned his thoughts to come forth: the essence was placed under Minato's care—this was hardly a secret—but he never knew that Danzō's influence made Minato a Hokage, and Hiashi, his advisor. This matter was so strange . . . what did Danzō accomplish with the Byakugans and the payment? Did Minato have something to do with the Tulip Squad as Sasuke was interested in the Mist affair?

He looked down at Sasuke and stroked his hair. "You wild, disobedient child—what games have you been playing?" Itachi asked, but Sasuke did not answer. He had not probed his mind too deeply: memories were fragile, delicate, connected like crisscrossing webs in the mind; one wrong pull would have shattered Sasuke's mind, body, and spirit; and he did not have the heart to commit such an unforgivable Sin.

"I will ask Tanaka to cut your hair . . . the _right_ way," he said, bent down, pressed a kiss to his brow, and then he left his room and Sasuke inside the comforting glow from the fireplace. He did not want to leave, but he had to. He had no choice . . .

He went to Sasuke's room one last time to check upon Kirin: it was sleeping in its prison, too. When he stepped outside, a cold wind and Kai greeted him. He had the same unassuming expression printed on his face, though he had more than questions on his person this time—a missive with a Higanbana symbol.

Itachi took it from his hand, but the contents displeased him, greatly. He burnt the letter with a pronounced frown on his face. It took him a good second or two to control his temper. He turned to Kai when Serizawa came into his vision from the left. It was time to leave.

"I have instructed Tanaka and Yuu to watch over Sasuke. I advise you to do the same. Do not disappoint me like last time," Itachi said, and lingering traces of colour gathered into a blush on Kai's cheeks. "Let Nomura come by if he wishes—he is a bothersome man."

Kai nodded. "Where are you going—when will you return?" he asked, with great concern, and a cold expression caused the colour to fly from Itachi's face; his questions did not please him.

"You ask so many questions," Itachi spoke, and his countenance showed a customary, deep-seated indifference that always wounded Kai's pride and heart. He did not speak anymore, and left with Serizawa in silence. The night was cold, like Itachi, always . . .

When the night deepened in the cradle of dark's arms, enticed by its vulgar flesh, a man stole into Sasuke's room. He had made sure that Sasuke was alone. Like a specter who had come to haunt the child's dreams, he came to liberate the older one of his burdens.

The specter sat down and opened the Genjutsu-eye, but the child, even in his dreams, was wary. He knew that this touch was foreign (this was not his mother with a protruding thing at her throat!); so he fidgeted and struggled, but his sleep was too deep to grant him liberation into the land of consciousness; and that prompted the man to press his knee into his ribs in an attempt to still him. He had to see the thoughts of this wicked, wicked boy!

But the child, always naughty, did not let him; so he pressed harder and went into the dark of Sasuke's mind, his Sharingan guiding him to steal the child's precious memories, that was closed to him. Then he heard a crack—a loud one. The cunning specter backed away. The red lantern, which was lit now, had toppled over beside the wild child's face.

"Fuck!" he hissed, his hands going to his head to fist his hair in bunches, his eyes darting around the room. Had the crow seen this sin? He trembled at the thought of this exhibitionism that he was dancing in the gaze of the crow, and, as a consequence, a delicious aura enveloped his loins like the soft mouth he dreamt of.

"Fuck!" he hissed again, for in his struggle, he had broken the child's ribs; and an expression of ache was contorting his countenance with haste now. What a naughty child—he never listened! He grabbed the child's throat with his hand, in half a mind to crack his throat in two and end him—here . . . now!

But then he saw the way the lantern lay by his cheek, all sweaty in the light, and the scrim fell from before the empire of his heart and his hand retreated. In his heart, he had built a home borne from lust's gaze, from love's haze. He could not dream beneath sleep's callous hands, so he submerged his hands into this night . . . that stirred the waters of his river to come forth, all gushing, from the crown.

The crow's moon had appeared in the specter's gaze, and he saw him in the younger one's countenance, in the dark's trick that enticed his flesh so much—that it became unbearable. He did not want to speak the crow's name, but his want compelled him to betray his honour, ruin it in ways only he knew.

"I-Itachi-Sama—" he stopped, clamping his lips together to seal his heart's words that shamed him. His trembling fingers brushed across the wet seam of the younger one's lips, and he saw the brow strain and the set of lips lengthen in such cool indifference that was so like the older one's visage . . . that he was fooled. His heart elated beyond measure, sung beyond the undulations of this air.

A pusillanimous heart, such a lonely lover, he had ruined it in sleep, and he ruined it in waking. It bent his body against his reason, and his breaths went in gasps from his lips, stirring the younger one in sleep, hot like puffs of steam from a tempered blade. Then, right there upon the bow of the child's lips, he brushed an unchaste kiss. Creak-creak-crickety-creak, the house spoke, too, as if in admonishment, and the sounds penetrated his limbs in the most horrific manner. Oh, the sweetness of rose that stood like dews upon this child's lips was noisome . . . it repelled his senses that he backed away with a violent jerk, wiping his mouth clean of the filth that pervaded his senses so completely.

Then he sprung to his feet and moved back and the mantle of illusion slipped away to reveal . . . Sasuke. He had made such a mistake. His eyes, blooming like an intoxicated sky, released anger and expelled want that was wound about his heated loins, and he fled out of the room with a heart broken . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : The terms daemon and devil possess their own themes in my story, which take quite a few aspects from the "original" words, rather than what became of them in the later centuries (but they can allude to biblical themes at times—if the context allows for it); hence, be careful in this regard, don't take everything (like one really naïve and short-sighted and irresponsible **guest-reviewer** , who believed " **nuns** " to be restricted to Christianity **_only_** ; they really aren't) too literally, and don't automatically assume everything to be biblical in nature.

Here's a brief Etymology of the two very important words that spring up repeatedly in the story:

 **Demon** : Daemon's an alternative spelling of demon, but it represents something else entirely, which technically didn't originate from theological mythos. Etymologically, the original word's taken from Latin and Greek (my word document doesn't recognize the Greek spelling, sadly) that means "divinity", "tutelary", and "genius"; however, in the usual East sense, it's from Latin _daemonium_ , Greek diminutive, used in Septuagint and Vulgate in its Jewish sense of "god of the heathen" and "unclean spirit".

 **Devil** : The term Devil isn't biblical in origin, either. The modern term devil's derived from the Anglo-Saxon _deofol_ , which is rooted in Latin _diabolus_ , which in turn has its roots in the Greek word (which my word document can't seem to recognize—again): it means "slanderer", "liar", or "a false accuser", along with its other minor variations that include "to slander", and "to throw across". This became the main foundation for the Christian Devil's "sense" that's talked of in the bible and popular media: "The Father of Lies".

There are some interesting phrases in this regard, as well. For instance, the phrase "foreign devil" appears to be a misunderstanding of Chinese _yang-kiwei_ , ocean ghost, a name given to the Dutch sailors, whose fair hair and pale faces appeared ghostly to the Chinese. Similarly, "what the devil . . . " directly comes from French _que dioble_ , which is a reference to a pagan deity that was believed to be a woman!

England converted to Christianity in 597, but Anglo-Saxon has many compounds, such as _deofol craft_ for "witchcraft" or "devil worship", _deofol seocnesse_ for "devil sickness" or "possession by the devil", and _deofilisc_ , "devilish," all of which seem to be literal.

 **Words** : 6,263

 **Characters** : 27,259


	68. A Child in the Cradle

**Chapter Sixty-Eight** : A Child in the Cradle

# # # # # #

The night sibilant, existing in supplication, dancing to the whims of the moon-child, beckoned him thither that was the core of his spirit, his heart. Here it converged, melded, blent into his world—a child in the cradle created from the smoke-arms of memories.

He opened his eyes and woke up into the world without colour, sapped of its nature in his mind; but there, right there, on the edge of the world she stood, beautiful in the moon that had thrown down its umbilical cord that had gone into her belly, and she had become the progenitor of his world—forever, always.

He rose up, sweet breaths passing from his lips as though they were his first ones, and stood in a field so vast, so white as far as his eyes could see. Her kimono, vivid, rose and fell upon the breaths this world-womb had trapped inside its walls; like a brush stroke, the layers swept the canvas, spilling red from the underside, a painter's artistry.

He was in awe. In her arms lay his salvation; in her breast, his joy; so he ran into the fields, sure of foot, eager to press himself against her bosom and forget it all. The more he drew near, the more he saw, the colour coming from the deep of her breast and womb: red, oh, so red, her joy and love—she bled with his love—arms extended towards him, hands cupped in prayer, a smile appearing upon her pretty, pretty mouth.

He did not care as the colour floated out of her and splattered upon the swaying grass and granted them colour. The fields in his wake turned gaudy, showy with the love that came from his breast, enraptured by the sight of her in his eyes. He had not seen her in so long . . . but she was not hazy here, no; so clear and beautiful in the nexus of his memories, a morning dew that hung from the strings of his cobwebs, forever inert, forever lovely for him, a butterfly that had forgotten its flight in this grave that floated like gossamer from the fabric of the . . . endlessness of his mind's landscape. Anon, a paradox, this would come to an end with his final breaths; and here the Lord's mother would stay, eternal, a haunting melody.

But that was not in his mind: _she_ was in his mind. A morning dew? A red butterfly? Why did it matter? She was here, and _now_ was what mattered. His feet charted their own course towards the red-streaked combers that rose from her kimono, a tumult of surges that broke from the banks of his dreams' river: she was a mirage that had merged with his want and become real, so real.

He smiled, dimpling, watching as she went down on her knees to receive him into her arms. When he collided against her breast, she pressed him into her heart, and a smell of sandalwood invaded his senses so completely. It came from her hair, her skin, her spirit; she was a perfume of sensations, a sublime faerie, and he was ensorcelled.

"Okā-San, where didyu go?" he asked and burrowed his face into her breast. He really could not feel the wetness of love she expelled from her bosom.

"I was _right_ here, waiting for Itachi," she spoke in a voice so soft, her fingers going into his hair. "He hasn't come? I've been waiting—waiting . . . "

He breathed in deep and hard the scent from her body: it was soothing, enchanting, intoxicating, fumes of a mother's love. Then he grasped the flesh of her bosom through the fine fabric and sniffled. He loved her—was that not enough?

"Okā-San," he began, steadying his uncertain breaths, "you don't love me?" His heart had become violent in grief, a child's grief.

She let out a laugh so sweet that he could almost smell her breaths in her sounds. Oh, so sweet, this melody of his memories' love! "I love you, Sasuke," she said and pressed him harder into her breast. His eyes fluttered close, and he listened to the music from her heart that sung for him and him only. She was . . . alive? Of course she was! He frowned. He had become so naughty. He had to control his wayward thoughts.

 _Little boy child, your heart grows wild_! she whispered, running her fingers across his rosy cheeks. Then she took out a small red pin-wheel from her sleeve, and his heart grew sadder at the sight of it: she made them for Itachi, often. It spun and spun in the windless wind, colours floating from its edges, steeping the world of black and white tints in a hue of roses.

"Okā-San, I caught one for you!" he exclaimed and produced a moth from his pocket.

Fear danced through her expression, and she dropped the pinwheel from her hand, her hand going to her bosom. "Sasuke!" she gasped, frightened, "you know they frighten me. Why do you frighten your mother?" And her eyes grew misty, and she settled her other hand upon her bosom, too, weeping, and tears dressed her eyes, shining.

"I—sorry—" Sasuke mumbled, let go of the moth that fluttered in the wind with a strange power, and settled himself on her lap.

"I forgive you!" she spoke, grief vanishing from her ruddy face in suddenness, and smiled, and the horizon was blushing behind her; it was drunk on the shades from her flesh. Then she sung, and her songs vibrated in the air, in his heart, and upon her face the moth located its perch.

It went into her mouth, and she chewed on it with relish, her lips stretching in a smile; and he just sat there, watching. When she was finished, she ran her tongue across her lips slowly, as if to enjoy the taste that persisted there, coating them red, like lipstick—like blood! Then she bent down and kissed him upon the mouth, and he smiled when he felt the wetness of her rosy lips, assured that she loved him, too!

"You _never_ have to forgive me," Mikoto spoke, and her voice was not that of a woman's any longer: it was deep, but sweet, and its seduction was fierce, its love, fiercer. She gazed up at the moon that became brighter, and the cord in her belly wriggled as though it was alive; and she was at the receiving end of its nourishments, a toy in the moonlight's hands.

"My son—my child," she spoke in the same manner, the rhythm and inflection of her voice sublime, perfect. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and wiped away the shade, and her translucent skin fell away with the motions of her hand to reveal a winter's skin so white that the hair that framed the throat was just like ink!

The moonlight sluiced down his mother and she grew whiter, and her breast lost the softness and became hard. The scene held him rapt, and he stared, unblinking. His mother had become so beautiful, so perfect, and there was no one like her in the whole world; and the thought brought such joy to his heart that he smiled, his cheeks glowing with a bright red shade of love.

"Nii—Nii-Sama—Okā-San!" he exclaimed, breathless, heart helpless, spirit restless—Oh, how he loved her; and she, him! Her richer eye-lashes, rimming the quiet martyrs in her eyes, cradled the morning dew that fell away when she blinked; and she was lost—his mother was lost in _this_ mother, _this_ love!

" _My_ son . . . _my_ child," she spoke, and a devil's murmurings became the tongue of his mother, permeated it like winter's rot, till she became the Devil, for the Devil's love was supreme; his kiss, a festering dream that was this child's first breath! She picked up the pin-wheel and un-folded and folded the paper in a different manner. It was an origami of lily now, and he clapped in happiness: his mother knew how to make him happy!

Then she traced his cheek with the back of her fingers, a touch so tender that his heart fluttered, enraptured by his mother's? Lord's? love. Blood rose to his skin, and happiness suffused his face with shades deeper. He had never felt so happy, eyes agleam with the fervour of fire, a crucifixion of Sons in his gaze.

 _Little Boy child, filled with love, beguiled_ , she whispered and leant her head down, her longer throat's protrusion vibrating with her speech; and then she pressed her lips, which stung like winter's moths, to his right cheek, left cheek, brow, and then his mouth; and his heart just—ruptured at the joy he felt, a love that martyrized him upon the cross of his dreams.

Quaking his heart, in love; shaking his spirit, in love; vibrating his soul, in love; everything united in oneness with the Lord! Then his mother, his Lord, rose to her feet and cradled him in her arms, speaking in tone dulcet: " _my_ boy . . . _my_ child. You are the greatest gift she gave to me, and I will love you . . . always."

And she just strode with a slow, perfect gait to the edge of the valley, her garments fine, embroidered with moths, that trailed behind her in deep layers. The devils fluttered, wings stitched into her kimono, and then they rose with wicked wings to fly out and spray the world behind him into night.

And from the night, his last mother gave chase to this mother, running through the fields where the devils festered in frenzy, her garments drenched red in the last rays of autumn's sun when she had conceived him; but this mother did not stop; languidly she moved and dark feathers grew out from her pores in luxuriant plumes.

So many of them came out that they cushioned his cheek, and he was not afraid. She pulled the arm, over-taken by the new growth, from the long sleeve and pressed the calloused hand to his back; and tender was its touch even in this state. The kimono fell away to her waist from one side, and he regarded, from over her shoulder, the rich plumage that covered the smooth bend of her back. He was fascinated, and he watched his last mother's chase through the rich red fields in desperation till the flurry of plumes obscured her vision and she fell down upon the ground, weeping—but he could not hear her . . .

The moths enveloped her so completely, and, beneath them, she wriggled in fright. He closed his eyes, for his last mother made him afraid, and pressed his brow against this mother's shoulder, who loved him with touches tender, songs sweeter, kisses lighter. She was his world; her heart, his domain; and she stopped at the end, looking at him with silent eyes that dripped with fondness.

"What do you see?" she asked, her long-nailed fingers lifting his chin, her mouth smiling so beautifully; behind her back, wings unfurling like black shades, instruments of Devil's flight.

And he looked down and saw nothing but moths and lilies in the garth of his heart, his last mother forgotten. "Moths-n-lilies," he spoke and smiled when his mother smiled, for she liked the answer—he knew, for she kissed him again, smelling sweeter than sandalwood.

"Good boy child," she said, lips moving against the skin of his brow, " _my_ child." And he smiled, and then he wept when the dream went away amidst the murder of crows. Her scent lingered in his nose like a memory, a faint trace of sandalwood in a sea of moths.

Karin heard whimpers from Itachi's room, and she rushed inside. His futon was empty, and the room was dark. She looked around and found Sasuke sitting in the corner, head leaning against the wall.

"Okā-San—Okā-San—" he spoke and wept and trembled, his eyes revealing Sharingans in distress.

"S-Sasuke?" she said, sat down, and crawled to him, afraid that he might hurt himself in such a state; but he was dreaming of his mother with eyes open . . .

# # # # # #

Out in the forest inlaid with dews, she traversed the foliage. It was early morning, and night's tricks still affected her vision: fog floated along the grass as easily as droplets of rain. It was cold, but she had pumped enough chakra into her legs to fight and win this battle.

She stopped by a lily upon which a moth so rare crawled. She bent down and trapped it between her hands, a kind prison. Its wings fluttered against the layer of sweat on her palms. She heard rustling behind her and turned around: it was Reo. He had been an apt pupil, and he learnt things so fast, faster than she had from Tsunade.

And when he would reach his goal, she would leave her post for him . . . the thought filled her with grief; but she changed her expression as he approached her, his face almost child-like in the new lights—he was just four-and-ten-years of age, after all.

"You're catching moths again, Sakura-San? Thought they bored you?" he asked, running his hand through his hair streaked with sunlight.

"No, I—" she stopped and pulled her hands apart and watched as the moth climbed the air-currents to rise up. It was almost black. "It's a rare one—never seen it before."

"It's just a moth," he said, smiling.

"It's the Sumi Moth—" she said and leant her head back to stare up at the pliant branch it had settled upon to escape the sudden harshness of wind, "—it changed its colour not that long ago."

"I . . . don't understand?" he asked, trickiness apparent in the deep-black of his eyes.

Sakura breathed in deep, filling her lungs with winter's traces. "Not all pink moths remain pink. Once every autumn, one moth survives the mating season with the purple moths. It's born with the ability to change colours.

"It's pink when autumn starts, red when it reaches its peak, and black when winter begins—sometimes, it changes colour at its peak. I don't understand why it's turned black so soon. Strange . . . "

Reo smiled, clamping his lips; he appeared on the verge of laughter. She frowned. "You might want to take notes, Reo-Kun," she huffed and folded her arms. Her students were so non-serious to learn of poisons.

"I'm not playing with these autumn moths," he spoke, looking almost shocked, "they're crazy poisonous these days. I've heard that one sat on a medic's arm, and he kicked the Sage's bucket within seconds—poor bastard."

"Don't be silly—yes, its poison can kill you fast, but it's almost impossible to get the potent one. I can never tell which one's the right one after mating. That poison's only present in its glands. The sting from the spurs happens very rarely," she said and knelt down by a cluster of purple lilies; their mouths were closed; they only opened when kissed by the moonlight. "He should've worn gloves. Exposing your skin to the spurs on the moth's legs can cause fever and bleeding. Death from its spurs is just a story among medics who run away from learning about poisons."

"Sweet Kami—it _can_ happen?!" He looked up and down the area, trying to locate a moth with purple wings and fake black eyes that changed colour in danger, often.

"No one's died from being stung by an Autumn moth—quit fooling around and help me look!" she spoke, placing her hands on her thighs.

"Do I have to? It's not even night!" he protested and huffed out a sigh. It floated in the air like a distorted cloud of smoke.

"It's early morning, and the Sumi moth's here—the devil's moth likes to mate with it. It might be around here, somewhere . . . " she said, her voice fading in morning's melodies, but she could not see the moth anywhere.

"I can't see one anywhere," he said, sat down, and moved the lilies about: they usually hid under the closed petals of lilies in the morning.

"Never mind, I found one—just get the black one and bring it to my office," she said whilst she trapped a purple moth in a small jar. Its wings furled and unfurled slowly as it became aware of its prison. It was sleepy, intoxicated on poisons that filled its systems, armed to the teeth to kill the pink ones during mating . . . when it sensed danger, the make-believe eyes upon its wings turned red: it had armed its spurs with poison now.

"Why do you need that one?" he asked, turning around to come into the shadows of the leaves. They spoke in grief—autumn had sapped them of their lustre and energy.

She did not say anything for a span of a few seconds. Then she drew in a deep breath and shoved the jar into her pocket. "I just need to know why it can survive this evil moth's poison," she spoke, her voice dipping low, "is it only because it's—it's—"

"It's—what?" Reo asked, unable to hear her small voice over the sounds the forest made whilst it woke from its habitual slumber.

"It can't lay eggs—not ever. It's born that way," she said, and he could see a bitterness invade her smile that changed her whole expression. "The ripe ones—they always die—" And she was looking at him in a manner that eluded him.

"Bring it to my office," she spoke and made to start towards the boughs that twisted low, like a net, between the leaning trees, shadows skipping across her cheeks in haste.

"Wait, Sakura-San!" he spoke suddenly, and she stopped and turned around, "I came here to give you this."

"What's this?" she asked as he pulled out a scroll from his pocket.

"It's a letter from Itachi-Sama," Reo spoke and saw her eyes change again, mantled by a curious wariness that was hard to miss. "He told me to give you this. It says that you're using two posts—you can't do that. Your original appointment was with Sasuke-Sama. You gotta get approval from 'im and Tsunade-Sama to become an Anbu."

Her heart stopped and started. Could it be—could she really . . . ? She took the scroll from his hand and left the cradle of forest for Tsunade's office. It was now or never!

"But—"

"That's my final word," she cut across her, angry, cheeks red. It did not seem as though she wanted to listen to her pleas. She breathed in deeply, focusing her senses upon her mentor's countenance that had not changed one bit: her nostrils were flared, lips pursed, fingers clenched; she was not in the mood to talk, but she had to try.

"If I do this, Tsunade-Sama," she began, controlling the passions in her voice and eyes, "I can—I can get away from here. I need this. Please—"

"No," Tsunade answered, turning her face away to gaze at the sky beyond the window: the sky had grown weary of autumn, "No, Sakura—I don't trust Itachi. He hasn't said a thing to me about this. I don't know why he's offering you this post—I don't know what's in his mind.

"He—He's a treacherous boy. Don't trust him. Stay away from him. You want to get away from here? I'll get you a post in another village, but not Anbu—not this."

"But in Anbu, I—" Sakura stopped when Tsunade slapped her hand upon the table. The sake rippled in the bottle, glasses clinked, and two wooden-pens fell down upon the floor. She spoke no more, bowing her head in obedience.

"This is my final word. Don't argue with me," Tsunade spoke at last, her voice harsher than before, "you don't know what goes on in Anbu. It's not the side of Konoha you want to know. He didn't even let his own brother become an Anbu Shinobi.

"If he had, Kai's post would've been Sasuke's, but he did everything in his power to thwart Sasuke's path— _everything_. Sasuke's resentment is just. It's fair. He's been sent to a post he doesn't deserve—it's a mockery of his talents. You don't want to know what—what goes on in Anbu. It's better for you not to know." Then she placed her hand against her cheek and picked up the sage bottle to pour herself another glass. She appeared anxious, her bosom pink with sweat.

Sakura clenched her teeth together, fighting the tears, and nodded. Shadows pooled around her sandals. Night was coming, another lonely night; and without Naruto, she did not know how to satisfy her yearnings.

"Did you kill the prisoner and put the blame on Hinata's shoulders?" Tsunade asked, and her words, though soft, struck her heart like a spirit-crushing blow. Sweat-drops quivered on Sakura's skin, a map of sensations, but she did not hesitate to lie this time: she shook her head and raised her gaze to look upon her mentor who stood with her back to her.

"Leave," Tsunade spoke and raised the glass to her lips to take a little sip, a small pleasure for her heart . . .

The walk to Naruto's home was lonely. Sakura was distraught. She knew Sasuke would sign this scroll with haste. He wanted her gone, and this thought made her stop by the gate. Wind's garments unfurled and smells escaped the layers in bursts; it smelt sweet this perfume of Autumn.

She did not make much of the smell that enticed her heart and made her way to the door. It was a heavy double-door. Wind chimes hung at the frame, clinking in the wind. The silver bells collided and chinked, gleaming bright: evening was approaching, but sunlight, broken by storm's torn veils, came down in distorted beams to touch her cheeks. She felt nothing there. It was a light without spring's warmth—she was the flower of spring, and in that season she lived.

Sakura sucked in a long breath, clenched her fingers, rapped on the door. For a few moments, she heard nothing; then, a moment later, the door opened and Kushina stood in the door-frame, her face hard and tense. She did not like that Sakura had shown up on her doorstep, uninvited.

"I want to speak to Naruto. How is he? I haven't seen him in days. I need to know if he's—if he's all right. Please . . . " she said and pushed pink hair out of her green eyes.

In the grim greyness that filled the entrance, Kushina's eyes darkened. The expression on her countenance remained the same. She moved her hand up and adjusted her shawl that was made from the finest silk Sakura had ever seen. She was still as pretty as ever, with her faerie-like face framed between the red hairs so delicately. Shadows moved along her throat that possessed a girl-like pink hue—so full of youth's vigour still. Her Uzumaki blood spoke without a word through her flesh, and Sakura envied her . . .

"He is sleeping," Kushina spoke and held the door. "Do not come here again without sending a missive. It is rude." Then she closed the door in her face . . .

Kushina turned away from the door and went back to Naruto's room. Minato sat by his futon, stroking his hair. In the wind, the house creaked; she would ask the servants to fix it in the morning. It was a minor problem. When she stepped into the room, Minato looked over his shoulder. He looked so handsome in the lantern's light that her heart fluttered in love. She smiled, sat delicately by his side, and leant in to press a kiss to his lips. A smile swept across his face, and the skin around his blue eyes softened.

"Who was it?" he asked, eyes upon Kushina's hand as she clasped his hand in her own. Then she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it, her eyes shining in the light that he could not help but lengthen his smile.

"No one," she said and leant into his shoulder, caressing his fingers in fondness—still so in love like Young'uns.

Moments passed, and they sat looking at Naruto who slept peacefully through the night, not knowing how he filled their hearts with relief, with love. He was the greatest gift they had given each other.

"He has asked of him—in his moments of consciousness," Minato spoke and bent forward and adjusted the kakebuton upon Naruto. He sighed in his sleep, smiling. His fever had finally thawed.

"He used to come here and play. The abduction changed everything—" Kushina stopped on a sigh and tangled her fingers with his.

"I do not know why Fugaku did this. He was supposed to earn a seat in the council in exchange for the Mangekyō. It was meant to be an act of good faith from the Uchiha—the only good thing Danzō ever suggested. I do not know why—why he would ruin himself this way. He ruined us all," he said, and his breaths were heavy in grief.

The smile went away from Kushina's face, and in its place, a weaker one blossomed; she never could bear to see Minato in distress. "Leave it be—do not think of it anymore. I do not want you to wound your heart this way," she spoke and kissed his cheek and wrapped her arm around his in a manner as if they were young lovers still.

He did not speak for several long minutes, listening to her humming a song in tones soft. She had told him in the past that she learnt it from her mother. It was a song of life eternal in the lands ripe with fruits beyond Konoha's borders. He had been there and seen chakra-breaths rise into the night—he thought it to be an eerie sight, a grave of the Uchiha.

"Has the seal matured?" Minato asked when he saw Naruto's brow frown in a dream. The lantern's light had dimmed, and a thick shadow lay across his son's body now. It made him feel . . . uneasy.

"Yes, it matures quickly in autumn. You should not worry, my love," Kushina spoke, and a smile was most pronounced in her voice; but it was as though he did not hear it: his mind had gone back to the past again.

"Danzō's influence made me a Hokage—his vote was what it took to grant me the seat. Hiruzen had shown his consent, as well. Do you—" he stopped and looked down at her, and she lifted her head to meet his blue eyes steeped in past doubts, darker oceans of failures, "—do you think that had you made the new base-seal he asked of you, Naruto could have been spared?"

And he was looking at her as though he was lost again, and it tore at her heart to see him this way. "Minato . . . I could not have. My family was never skilled in making them. You know this. Do not grieve anymore. He is fine now. I do not want you to go on grieving. We could not have done anything," she said, her voice weak, and pressed her brow against his shoulder, her body trembling.

"Forgive me," he said and passed his hand down her back. It was night, and the storm had grown wild . . .

. . . so wild that silence had soaked through the ground that chewed upon it with obscene relish, and now, earth sighed in contentment that its belly was full of love. There its children grew, awaiting the moon to break the sky and announce the end of its gestation period, for it had to birth a new life: children borne of Autumn's love, which this earth had shared in a delirious ritual of eternal mating.

It was night and a softer storm chose to sing to this earth tonight, but it was wild the way it compelled the earth to release its odours. She walked amongst earth's children, trees dressed in rain and fog, her feet moving towards the secret abode of the moths. The devil's moth she had caught in the morning could attract no pink moth to its domain. She killed it, but found its poison of no use—it died for nothing . . .

Her heart was in such a dark place, listening, and when she came upon the clearing, a heat of passion uncoiled in her belly and something moved there, as though she was carrying a child. Her hands grasped her belly, and she watched, spellbound by the lilies that grew out of the ground and opened their petals to receive the kiss of moon upon their mouths, kisses trapped in pearly missives of rain.

She walked slowly, staring up at the sky as the moon cast delicate veils about her, which floated with an airy grace in the air that was not shy to carry them through the night. One kiss upon the lips of lilies, and they danced with wild joy, swaying back and forth, back and forth, children just learning to run on the ground in abandonment.

The moon had thrown down so many umbilical cords, and though invisible, they tethered to her children, for she was their mother now, their _real_ mother: the one who birthed them was but a momentary refuge for these children; they waited for moon-mother's kisses, delighted by her lips' playful misses. Children in the cradle of love, their joys knew no bounds.

She closed her eyes, rain cool on her hot flesh; then, one by one, she removed her garments till she stood bare in the light rain that trapped the moonlight in droplets, which slid down her skin, that traced the contours of her body; and she courted with rain, courted with cold, courted with love . . .

She lay down amongst the lilies that brushed against her skin, delighting her flesh as they played in their own little world. Raindrops collided against her skin and burst into watery flowers upon her pores: she, too, was birthing her children, her flowers. Sheer scrims of dark lay before the forest, and behind them, it shivered in excitement of winter's first signs.

She turned her head to one lily that grew by her cheek: its petals unfurled, and it smiled, blest by moon's kiss; and she, in love, kissed it, too, but it refused to smile for her, and that made her heart ache in love, want, lust. And it moved inside her again and poked her belly from the inside that she sat up with a contorted countenance.

But when her eyes looked to the forest, she stopped breathing: there he stood, on the edge of the unwooded domain, trees continuing like a crooked forest of hands behind him; so oblivious to her want, always, moon limning his flesh with white. He stood barefooted, bare from the waist up. "S-Sasuke," she gasped and rose to her feet in haste, with a joy in heart, and staggered to him, but he did not turn away from her.

So full of surprise, she pressed herself into him, her flesh singing out at the contact she so desired. His skin was cold, so cold, but hers was alight with primal desire, and it burnt that she wanted to cast away this mortal coil and mate with the spirit that lay sheltered inside this child of blood and bones.

"Sasuke—you—" she stopped, breathless, and took his face in her hands that shook, "—you've come for me? All this way— _just_ for me? I-I love you—I—love—love—just this once, S-Sasuke—just this once—" And she wept, her heart speaking in joy, her mouth hard on his; and she kissed him over and over again, suckling on his lips, but he was a stone. His eyes were downcast, hidden by his tar-like lashes that wore rain upon them without blinking. His expression had not changed; he appeared lost, cold to her confessions like always, and it wounded her.

"Sasuke, say something—say something to me, damn you!" she shouted this time and bit her lower lip in helplessness, and her eyes stung with the invasion of tears; but he was still silent, and she did not know what to do. She pressed herself against his breast and felt the vibrations of his heart entice her spirit and beheld a thick shadow that stood behind him. It was growing, and silence was its manner of speaking.

Her heart could not bear his silence, his cold demeanour; so she sat down on her knees in a prayer, freed him, and drew him into her mouth. It was cold and flaccid, drenched in rain, against her tongue, and he was still gazing down; however, now it seemed as though he was looking straight into her eyes whilst she pleasured him, and that thought made her slit quiver with an excitement of coming fulfillment.

She closed her eyes, her lashes fluttering, when she sensed it stir and grow between her lips. She felt his muscles shiver beneath her palms. They grew . . . firmer, harder and shivered in heat. His cock, as if resonating with the rest of him, grew harder and escalated into her throat. He was shaking off this make-believe cool-disguise for her—now; and she looked up, with him trapped delicately between her lips, and saw nothing but haze about his face. Hidden from her eyes, his metamorphosis was happening, and unbidden his flesh changed through her lust in a dream—a wish from her heart, and he had come alive, at last.

And when she looked at him now, with him shivering inside her organ where prayers to the Kami were created, she saw the older one, Itachi, looking down at her with garish accruements of threats in his eyes. His fingers tangled in her hair, and he held her there. Then he pulled out just a little, slowly and deliciously, and pushed back between her lips; his flesh hot, demanding release—now.

She wanted to pull away, but her mouth was filled with him so completely. Then he moved against her mouth, urging her to take all of him in, and stroked the damp hairs, glistening with unmapped droplets of rain, away from her cheeks as though he wanted to get a good look at her face. There was no smile on his lips, just a cold command, and she was an instrument for his (her) perverse pleasures.

He chose his own rhythm during this act of irrumation, and she took him in repeatedly, working into his rhythm, and felt her own heat scorch the excited flesh down to her core that she pressed her free hand between her legs to appease her need there.

At last, she felt him expel strings of release, and he pulled out, still hard and ready for more intrusions into her organ, and dragged translucent threads that stretched taut between her lips and the tip of his ripe flesh. His taste filled her mouth and covered her lips, and she fell back, almost exhausted.

She balanced herself on her elbows, her back covered with mud and rotten leaves that dragged her back towards the ground and impeded her motions, and half-rose when he knelt before her, his knees positioned on either side of her heaving breast, his cock flush with her lips. Tentatively, she raised her head and wrapped her lips around his needing-crown, which still showed signs of his contentment, and he pushed into her mouth and then her throat, his thrust slow, deep.

Her fingernails scratched across the hipbone that was exposed above the waist-belt of his trousers, soaked through with rain. The cold fingers of his right hand splayed across her shoulder, and the colder fingers of his left hand twisted in her hair, right behind her ear.

He stilled, gaze tracing over her face covered in rain's pearls, and his hand tightened this time. He eased his hips back a few inches and rocked forward again, sliding between her lips. He did not move, his pulsing organ's weight heavy upon her tongue and inside her throat, filling her mouth.

The pull of his hand sharpened in her hair as he thrust again, a roiling pain rippling along her scalp, and his thrust was harsher this time. His grip slackened in pleasure, and she pulled the lips from him to drag in a quick breath, but he guided her lips back to his ripe organ and pushed forward, and she swallowed him again without protest.

His tug on her hair was gentle now, his strokes slower, deeper. Stray black hairs spilt along his rain-soaked white arms, his face an empty canvas, his eyes containers of passion. The sight of him heated her blood, and when his release sprung from his cock, hot and viscous, she desired for him to complete her in a ritual of mating.

She bent her head forward and nipped at the taut flesh, leaving a vivid bruise on the white garment nature had given him as his garb, that sailed down as smoothly as a wave from the peak of his hipbone. Then she parted her thighs wide, unabashed, and watched as he flattened his hand on her ribcage, pushed her back to the muddy ground, loomed over her.

His cock, solid and hard, glided between her lips, back and forth, back and forth, till her slit shivered in need, and her back arched, hips rose to take him in; and he slid into her, and her shudders intensified whilst she sucked him into the heat of her cunt, repeatedly. And she kissed him, not in love but in lust, down his throat to his rushing pulse.

The material of his trousers rasped across her thighs and created a burning sensation. His strokes, at first smooth and slow, then hard and harsh that short, hissing gasps, almost frantic, tumbled from her lips. He moved faster now, and she picked up his rhythm, meeting each stroke of his, her neck arching, her hips surging. The sensations set her flesh ablaze.

At last, her flesh, a brimful of primal urges, came apart, and she spilt across his trousers, her breast rising up to press against his, legs winding about his hips to feel the burden of his organ throbbing in violent pulsations _just_ against the knot of her pleasures. Her shudders subsided into slow tremors, and she felt a film of rain between their breasts, her eyes roaming his shoulders and rain-curled strands inked across the skin that blushed—just a little.

He backed away, and she saw a wicked smile dance upon his lips; so enamoured, enthralled to the fury of the devils in his eyes and to the beauty of his eerie countenance bathed in the moon, that she kissed him, and he kissed her back. He was Tsukuyomi in her arms, moonlight against her lips and flesh, a living-loam of illusions.

He slid his hand across her belly, and it started growing with his seed. Darkness came forth, and he faded, like the moon, behind its layers; and she watched it grow and grow to bursting. Her eyes widened when she felt the crushing contractions in her belly, and she started screaming in pain, writhing in the forest that swallowed her fears as easily as she had swallowed him—just moments ago.

And now the forest courted with her differently, its schemes evil. His child moved in her belly, eager to come out. Sasuke stood in silence by the dark, the shadow still fresh behind his back—a child in the cradle of dark.

"S-Sasuke—help me!" she choked out, screams ripping apart the fine shrouds of fog made in Nature's hands. He did not answer, his gaze bent upon the flowers the moths had obnubilated in the purest act of love _._ She rose up when she felt it ripping free of its womb. Water and blood broke and sailed down her thighs, her vision heaving from pain.

She could not tell where the path to Konoha was, and it was coming, a child from her womb that was still vacant. Its mouth squeezed out of her cunt, and the black curd around it quaked with her unsteady motions . . . then it cawed in distress and slid down her thighs with a shivering caul clinging to its side.

She looked at the still-born boy-child, horror-struck, shaking and whimpering, and ran into the woods whilst it wept in her wake, hungry for milk . . .

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She sat in silence, writing another missive. The man had eluded her informant's grasp. _He_ would be angry with her again . . . a lovely frown disturbed the sublime beauty of her face just for a moment, but then it vanished behind the mask of indifference. She never wore her heart upon her face—that was not what she was taught to exhibit: mind before heart!

She put the brush aside and turned up the flame in the lantern. Darkness shrank back around the low table at the sudden invasion of light. It was night, and the smells autumn had trapped between the folds of its garments had sunk out. It smelt especially sweet and rotten at this time of the night, right after the rains.

Light from the lantern struck the opulent decorations, made of silver, brass, and gold, and gleamed. Sounds of laughing girls and boys floated into her room, and she frowned again: she just wanted some quiet tonight; so she, smiling, completed the last words in the song she wrote and plucked the strings of the flowery-Koto. She was taught to play it before her customers from a very young age, but now she played it for him only . . . just for him, always for him.

And at that moment when she had begun to create a beautiful melody, a girl came into her room, and she stopped, her hands hovering over the strings that shone bright. "What is it? Leave me be—I do not want to speak of anything," she said, her lips glowing with a sharper red colour the berries could not hide.

"Forgive me, Hanakoto-Sama—" she stopped and clasped the missive tighter in her grasp, "it's a missive from Itachi-Sama."; a wee-girl of twelve, she was a bit delicate.

Anger diluted into a subtler emotion on Hanakoto's face, which the girl was too young to read, and she motioned her to give her Itachi's missive. The girl, ungainly in her movements, picked her way across the room, in a manner as though she was walking across a carpet of nettles, and gave Hanakoto the missive.

She unrolled the scroll, and this time, anguish and anger were painted upon her face in a way that the girl could read, too. "He hardly gives anything in return, yet asks for so much," she said and threw the scroll into the hearth. It curled into black threads almost instantly.

"Didn't he pay us last time?" she asked, and, quite innocently, placed the tip of her little finger to her pink lips. When she looked down at Hanakoto for answer, her glare surprised her.

"Get out—leave," she snapped, and the girl jumped at the harshness of her tone. Colour drained from her round cheeks. She bowed and rushed out of the room, her garments streaming in her wake.

When the last of her footfall sounded in her chambers, Hanakoto sighed. She placed her hand upon her bosom, took in a steady breath, and positioned her hands on the strings again; and this time, she sang and played a song:

 _In a cradle, a cherished wild child_

 _In the moonlight, this spirit remains exiled_

 _For so long this night has lived without you,_

 _With your dreams I endure my night, its hue_

 _In your place, the moon spoke_

 _Harsh its touch, soft its stroke_

 _Solus in autumn's spring, forlorn my spirit and eyes_

 _Come before me now, abandon this guise_

 _My breaths I have lain in your path_

 _Your heart I buried in my garth_

 _To find you is my wish_

 _In your gaze swam my spirit's fish_

 _My heart does not let me forget your word_

 _In winter, I fear, I shall hide even my spirit's bird_

 _I wish not to draw a breath_

 _My nights go undreamt_

 _Why have you grown so distant to me?_

 _Recreant my heart, come hear its plea_

 _Unfriended my spirit, it yearns_

 _Aggrieved and angered, it sways in turns_

 _The festering spreads and it grieves_

 _Left it you have amongst autumn's leaves . . ._

. . . and the string broke; and possessed and animated, her eyes dressed themselves in a sweet garment she was _always_ meant to hide . . .

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	69. Trouble's Shadow

**Chapter Sixty-Nine** : Trouble's Shadow

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Rain rang a carillon on the ceramic-tiled roofs. The forest murmured to the wind that grew soft and softer with each passing moment, restless to return to stillness. Sudden lights pervaded the air of dark, distorting its shadow-limbs and shadow-face and shadow-teeth—had it consumed her unwanted crow-child in rapacious hunger; crunched it to the bone; slurped its tender insides to its fill; and smacked its lips together in contentment, with a cupid bow so lovely, like the crow-child's father, stained with its remains? She hoped, she truly hoped, that it had . . .

She had fled from the pursuing whimpers of the darkling-child that perished upon ooze-ridden garments of purple the lilies adorned with glee each year. Harrowing the little babe's cries, so fresh in her memory. A fever shivered, a wriggling thing, in the depth of her limbs and her womb that still ached with the after-effects of a strange birth; and in her breast, a mother's heart grew to bursting with a peering fear that came forth from her doubt—was it a terrible dream?

Light fell across the expanse of her cheeks, intermittent and white: this storm would not let her sleep. It went deep into the silence of her dream, rattled it to a state of waking; and her body, too, woke from its temporary condition of stupor; a strange pleasure, an insidious thing, released from her flesh; a slick ooze came from her channel, canalized her lust in a manner that was its due course.

A smell so pretty, a calling of moths, vibrated in the room and put the flesh on the bones of air's weightless apparatus, and as it bestrewed her skin like invasive growths, she shivered. The vapours delved into her pores till her body was glutted, like a glutenous and bulbous leech, with the smell—her bones could bear her flesh upon them no longer.

Her eyes opened to the crusty walls of her room upon which hung the arrogant and frameless shapes of light and dark. She reached down, still feeling the filth from their union flow from her junction unopposed, and touched her cunt. Had the menstrual fluids come so soon—after birth? _No—No!_ And this thought shook her spirit, and she looked at the room again, eyes bulging this time.

Fear, a tingling perversion, rose from the dark, a darker shade that stood still, affixed between the lighter shadow and the lightest flashes that came tumbling from the storm—to collide into her. She had left him behind, with his child. Had he come chasing after her from the heart of the forest, with vengeance that bloomed in his breast? She had left his boy-child to perish in hunger (without the sweet taste of her milk), and now, he had come to take her life.

He stood still, trouble in the person of this man, by the foot of her bed—his smell deeply embedded in the channels of this place that had become an extension of his organ. A sound of deep sigh issued forth from his lips, and tar flowed down from the oral commissures in crisscrossing lines that supplanted the winter-white of his skin with coal-black, reminiscent of his favourite toys' shade—crows.

Plumage grew unchecked from the little fissures in his skin; each drop of tar that collected at his chin, splattered on the wooden floor, louder than the sound made by the temple-bell's heavy-clapper. Ring-Ring-Ringing his blood fell, a loathsome bane of a colour so deep that fell from his organic garment; and, oh, his outward appearance, still so perfect as if it were ordained by Kami, yet affected deeply by the colour that turned him into a corse, slowly.

Soma, this shell unfree from the brutish beast's psyche that only possessed a beautiful physiognomy, and no more; and he was still looking at her with eyes hollow and winking and inky from dark's boughs; and she did not know what to do but fear him, revile him—love him? _No—No!_ She did not love him, for she adored the younger one with all her heart, and she feared him not; and yet she felt trembles, delicious trembles, that fed upon her uncertain lust.

Ah, his smell, so enticing that it caused something to move, a decaying thing, from the core of her womb and skitter across her body in intermittent spurts. Her heart beat in union with the room that was a parasitic flesh, cloven to his heart, and the place that had been invaded by his fecundating organ, enflamed for carnal copulation. So strange—her fear, this state.

She did not breathe; she could not; and he stood with his whitest neck arched, which bore black globules that shook with his movement, and reached up to rest his distorted hands upon his face, and he changed: horns curved out of his head, the span between them occupied by a glowing mass; she saw his belly, sunken and white, partitioned by stiff-arching ribs that went in and came out like the most apparent and bony protrusions beneath his still-youthful winter-skin, tinged by the hues of youth's spring, each draw of his breath a comely sound; the arch-shaped ridges cradled the rudimentary beginnings of buds growing-maidens possessed; and then they grew softer and they grew plump till he stood bearing the breasts of a ripe woman.

He trembled once, and his plumage rasped against the thick air choked up on his scent, and emitted a rough sound from his throat after a long moment of silence—he provoked waking nightmares in her nights, her eyes. What was he? He was staring up now, silent—he had not spoken a word to her as if she was not even there. His fingers, delicately resting upon his visage, encouraged the generation of trembles that allowed more plumage to grow that now his arms were adorned by innumerable feathers, each rich-black and long, as though his body was creating an apparatus for him to take flight.

On his left glowed a white crescent, and on his right, a black crescent, each generating pulses of sinister sensations she could not fathom, and when they travelled to her and touched her, all light and invasive for her mind and spirit, her body reacted in violent shudders and urine flowed across the sheets, hot and foul-smelling; she held her breath when he brought his clawed, beastly hands down, passing them with sensuous slowness over his breasts and the rise and fall of the rigid ribs just beneath the taut exterior, that still had the long and delicate fingers he usually possessed, revealing his face to her again upon which patches of beauty and white were still present. Then he walked to the table on which she had left the little remains of an autumn moth's weak poison, and she beheld thin vibrating strings of black ooze that hung slackly between his back and the walls, each string a home to shivering droplets that appeared nothing more than bits of black sludge to her—slimy, shiny, slippery; from the base of his spine grew an appendage, like a tail, where there was a proliferation of feathers and larger clusters of egg-like gelatinous black-mass; and when she looked lower, she could not see his generative member with which he had excited her upon the bed of rain-wearing lilies: it was hidden by the overgrowth and strange shape of his legs (bird-like, like crow's legs)—was she really dreaming? This was too real to be a dream—too real!

He stood still, curious like a naïve beast, head leaning down to gaze upon the purple wings (of the dead moth) and poison that interested him so, countenance changing to exhibit an emotion that was as elusive as he. Odd, so odd, this man who had become a beast; and he sniffled and took in the sweet-smelling poison with a deep inhalation, excited and moved by the natural heat it imparted into his body; he trembled, eyes and limbs and breasts in the grip of excitement; then, as if something subsided in his breast, he pulled away from the table and walked to the window, his gait slow and dangerous, trouble's shadow that broke apart the signs of storm's lights. The noise had gone quiet in his presence, subdued; and now, she could hear nothing but a long ringing sound that filled her head in a steady stream.

He stopped by the window, without looking at her, and his mouth escalated—white skin ripped away at the mouth like a wet scroll would—and formed a beak; and in so few moments, he unshrouded his wings, pushed them back, and flew out of the window—he looked human no longer; she thought she saw a large crow leap out of her room's window; and the sounds of his wings came into her room, and after a few whispers from the storm, they lost their strength and faded away like his scent . . .

Darkness ran, like children cast out, before dawn, and soon, bright sunrays came through her window, illuminating the room: she saw every nook and corner clearly, wide-awake now; but, for the life of her, she could not locate a single black drop in the entire room. (The ceilings, walls, and floor, all of which had borne his signs, were clean and smooth—as though he had never visited upon her in a dream, nor in waking.)

When she sat up, she noticed that she truly had gushed out a thick stream of sickly grey to black substance across the sheets; and one look at it told her that this blood had severely deoxygenated. It was not her time to bleed—something was wrong, and she could not understand what.

It took so long to take out the stains: she had to scrub them out with her nails and a potent detergent. The effort left an itching sensation in her palms. Thankfully, even in her delirious state last night, she had managed to preserve a sample of the black curd, which had clung stubbornly to her inner-thighs, in a small vial. She had to seek help—soon!

She did not waste any moment, put on fresh clothes, and went to the new office in the medical division, which was previously an Anbu office, reserved just for research on ailments springing from chakra abnormalities. Itachi had made Shizune in charge. It was a decision made with Tsunade's consent: whilst she was proficient in poisons and their intricate workings, Shizune still possessed intimate knowledge of the chakra network and its relation to wellness and vitality in Shinobis; and she had delayed this condition long enough in hopes of locating the root of her disease, but without an aid, she knew her life would be in peril—whatever this was, it was . . . insidious, and she did not possess the courage to contact her mentor with a new accusation levelled against Itachi, or Sasuke.

Presently, she sat in Shizune's office; it was still going through renovations: most of the equipment was still packed in boxes, but Shizune had taken out a good microscope and few stainless-steel equipment, coated with micelles, to take care of injuries. Ointments, medicines, and anesthetics were still created from traditional herbs and insects that grew and flourished in the botanical gardens behind the complex; Tsunade had never been in favour of the synthetic substances peddled in the black-market for quick results; she used a strong combination of chakra and herbal enzymes to enhance the medicines' healing effects—a salient feature of her medical knowledge, something she learnt since she became her apprentice.

It was early morning now, and to her relief, storms went away and left shreds of frosty vales across the sky. A hue, deep and strong, emerged from the under the horizon like a percolating colour, going up from the peaks. She was expecting this to be a benign day without the unexpected arrivals of cold winds from the north—winter was taking its time this year . . . strange.

Sun's soft glow flowed against the window-glass, but it lacked the strength of summer to reach her cheeks. Thankfully, Shizune had lit the portable brazier, though it was still a bit chilly in her office. She rubbed her hands together, showing nervousness on her face, and looked down at the red palms that still itched like hell. She scratched them once, then twice . . . then thrice, but the repetitions did not bring her any relief. She was always allergic to detergents' chemicals, but she was so affrighted in the morning that she forgot to put her gloves on—she was not sure if this itch was caused by the detergent or the fluids; and this thought fed her heart more fear.

She inhaled once and breathed in the air embalmed with the scents of ointments and issued a deep exhalation. Shizune put down the speculum (she had given her a pelvic examination and palpation). Her anxiety faded just a bit at the sight of a smile that grew on Shizune's face. The corners of her lips lifted and dimples appeared in her cheeks and warm colour suffused her skin.

"Sakura, it's all good—you got worried for nothing," she said and placed her hand against her cheek, still smiling.

"But the black—" Sakura stopped, her fear returning unhindered.

"Some potent chakra from residual seminal fluid went to your endometrium," she said and removed her gloves, "it trapped the blood in the spiral arteries, and some of your endometrial tissue took too long to leave your uterus and make its way through your cervix and vaginal opening."

"Can you—not use this medic-lingo today, Shizune-San? I was terrified in the morning—you know I hate it on my bad days," Sakura said, annoyed, and wiped sweat from her brow.

"Okay—clean up after fucking!"

"S-Shizune-San!" Sakura stammered loudly and looked around, hoping that no one heard her.

"What? No body's around. The smell in the waiting area drives everyone out—a mould growth in one of the walls—a nasty one, too. Itachi left so many surprises when he left," she said and bent over the table to write on the scroll with a finely crafted brush: medicine, ointment, and a healing herb, the usual things.

"I haven't slept with anyone in weeks," she said, placed her face in her hands, and swept her hair back; they smelt of sweat and detergent. She felt awful . . .

"Really?" she asked, brow arching in skepticism.

"I'm not lying—and what's that smell?" she asked and pressed her fingers against her nostrils to prevent the vapours from travelling any further. It smelt like the moth's poison was burnt upon the fire, expelling throat-choking fumes into the office. Thank goodness the ooze was in such a small quantity; otherwise, she would have not been able to breathe in such a heavy air.

"Oh, I poured a rejuvenating essence on the sickly ooze you brought. Turns out the chakra inside it can't be revived—whatever was mixed with your tissues is dead," she said, casting Sakura a calm gaze. In the glow of morning, the brown hairs at her temple possessed the colour of sand-grains on the outskirts of Sand—dusty strands of gold tulle across her brow.

"It can't be . . . ?" Sakura spoke, and her voice faded too soon in the silence. Upon her facial contours stood a straggling map of sweat-drops that proceeded to envelop her skin bit-by-bit in all directions, uneven blinking pearls in the tricks of light.

"Don't worry, it happens—it's nothing to worry about," Shizune assured and patted her shoulder gently. "A Medic-Nin's chakra is enough to protect the uterus from infection. The menstrual fluids and chakra clear out the infections all on their own."

Sakura looked at her hand, and a slow smile creeped onto her pink face. Her reddish freckles were made apparent by the sudden paleness of her usually robust complexion. Now a flood of colour came back in, soft pink and delicate along her nape and cheekbones, and her freckles were indiscernible again.

"We women worry about bleeding and cramps on the field—men have it easy," she spoke and turned away from her to pace around the room with a few scrolls in her arms. "Last week, a Genin fainted on the grounds—her shorts were soaked with blood—poor thing. Her mother never told her about it. She was terrified—wept all day."

"Tsunade-Sama said she'll do something about this, but she's got her hands full," Sakura said, watching as Shizune arranged the scrolls in a neat stack inside the cupboards. Two of them stood side by side against the walls—large and heavy.

Shizune emitted a soft laughter. "Chūnin exams are coming. She wouldn't have the time to think 'bout this," she paused, took a long inhalation, wriggled her nose at the persistent mustiness the ooze still released, "it's such a strange smell—like one of those synthetic psychedelic drugs peddlers sell in the _Pleasure Quarters_. You didn't sniff one and hallucinate, did you? They can _really_ fuck up your brain."

Sakura bowed her head and passed a hand across her eyes and hid them in the shadow cast by the trees outside, a light grey shade that crossed the room in a solid stream. "No," she lied, still feeling sore at the junction. The harsh copulation she experienced in the forest felt anything but an illusion; however, she was not ready to share the strangeness of it with Shizune, not when her mentor did not trust her, at all.

Shizune chewed on her projecting lower lip that, as a result, turned red, a cheery shade of a lighter hue. "I—" she huffed out, confused, "—I'll try and revive the chakra again, but if it was too potent, it won't be revived by any herb. Who did you—fuck?" She raised her hands into the air, frowning this time, clearly upset that her herbs had failed her.

"I didn't!" Sakura said in a raised voice this time and rose to her feet; her cunt had begun to tingle again, and it was not from the itching sensation this time. She noticed that the smell, whilst the ooze sizzled beneath the translucent liquid Shizune had poured over it, enflamed her genitals.

Shizune puffed out her cheeks with a breath of frustration. "Well—it could just be a lot of dead chakra that got clogged up in the arteries. Don't use your Byakugō so carelessly when you're menstruating."

Sakura wanted to tell her that she had always been careful about using Byakugō, but she did not want to speak of it anymore. A sigh slipped from her lips, to which colour was returning, and she sat back down on the stool and her shoulders slumped—she was . . . exhausted.

She did not speak for a few moments, listening to the wind that harnessed winter's coming strength again in silence, like cold swords for an invasion into this land. She wished that the gentleness of sun had lasted longer, but it was not meant to be. When she looked over her shoulder, she noticed that red had vanished from the sky, and it was grey and dreary again, a solemn presence—she truly hated autumn!

"Itachi-Sama hasn't replied to any of my letters," Sakura began on her own, gazing down at her toenails that had turned pink with heat from the brazier. "Where is he? I need to sort this out—I can't go on like this. These two posts are really starting to get to me." She lifted her gaze and met Shizune's eyes and saw a mischievous curiosity in them.

"You can drop the honorific—he isn't here," she said and stepped away from the shadow that lay over Sakura's body as though it was a tangible presence. "He left the village on leave two days ago. Don't ask me where—I don't know. He doesn't usually take leaves. Such a strange man." She looked at her with utmost curiosity again, her cheeks dimpling.

This revelation struck her fear again into activity, and it moved inside her heart again and compelled it to put out tunes that thrummed, with a frightening resonance, in the venous coils that surrounded her flesh. She had mated with him in the forest, beneath the mist that billowed upon her in soft motions—her state was frightening, but she had the capacity to lie.

"Great—I wanted his answer . . . " Sakura sighed out and breathed in the scent again: it was wearing away under the odours of rotten flora that lay strewn about outside—rain had soaked through the grounds, and fungal growth flourished between layers of battered and sodden leaves that lay in heaps, faded colours on an old scroll, by the foot of quiet trees.

"Did you . . . have your way with our frosty Anbu Captain? Was his penis cold? I've heard such strange things about it, like it has the power to freeze a woman from her vagina to the last tips of her hairs—well?" she asked, excited, smiling with teeth so perfectly straight and white that Sakura assumed she devoted half her day to their care.

"N-No—Shizune-San!" she said quickly and in a voice she tried to make firm. Shizune only smiled.

"This would explain the potent chakra—" she stopped, a ghost of laugh rippling in her voice, her eyes upon Sakura's cheeks where sweat flashed and colour glowed, "—I'm joking, but knobbing Itachi's every man and woman's wettest dream in Konoha. Isn't he prettiest man you've ever seen?"

Sakura did not say anything; instead, she pressed the crook of her knuckle to her lips to hold in the retort. "Ah, but he's never said _yes_. Hopeful women send him countless perfumed letters, but one girl swore she saw him throw one into the dustbin under his damn table. We all wondered if getting knobbed was his deal—until one poor Anbu man came weeping from his office—wilted flowers and all in his hands. And that day we all learnt that Itachi was the greatest and prettiest monk Konoha had ever produced.

"You've got to look beyond Sasuke—his body's nice, but he has the face of a beautiful _little_ boy. Go and have fun at the festival—and stop pining for one night." Her bell-like laugh came again, and Sasuke's face materialized in her mind from foggy wisps: Nature had truly dealt her a terrible hand, and bestowed upon Sasuke's face an irksome habit to stay perpetually in the condition of an adolescent phase. If she were to swear by Sage's divine prick, and its seventh-plane Ninshū-granting miracle, in convulsive hysterics, then Sasuke's countenance had not gone through even the subtlest of shifts since his boyhood days (he looked no older than six-and-ten years of age)—it was not fair! _No wonder Itachi calls him a child!_ she thought, bitterness running amok in her mind, teeth grinding against one another in an all-out war!

There were these occasional appearances of barely perceivable dark hairs on his upper lips and jaw, punctually removed with a sharp instrument not soon after, but it was not a sign of facial maturation, which was, in her view, long overdue. (Her neighbour lady grew a thicker mustache!) Sakura had a lovelorn expression on her face, and Shizune, to her dismay, had lapsed into a long extending laugh—again.

"Can I have my prescription now?" Sakura asked in a tired and irritated voice, slowly rising to her feet. Shizune's huffed out another breath of laughter, and she, in lieu of speaking, gesticulated to the table. The ink on the small scroll had dried. Sakura picked it up and left the office in silence . . .

Sakura had no missions today. She spent the day in bed, sleeping. The nerve-calming medicine Shizune recommended her, revitalized her body and spirit. Her womb still ached, but the pain was no more than a dull pricking sensation around the extremities of her belly.

Evening filled the span between the hillocks, standing darkly below the horizon, and roses wilted across the arch, a spreading red; and she, without a reason, began pining for her boy-child. She never took a good look at his face. Did he possess plump cheeks, a sweet cupid's bow and lips of a rosy shade? Was his mouth petal-like, limbs round and delicate? She left him behind to be consumed by cold, hunger, night—beasts with frost in their breasts, not a heart.

She sat up, convinced that she had to leave to the forest, meet the boy-child where it perished, bury it deep into the soil and plant seeds of her love, her farewell there. Someday, a Sakura tree would find root in the unforgiving autumn-grave of her son and sprout branches robust and strong, flowers resilient and forever young, free her from this life into another—her spirit a flower that would come again and again, every season, to blossom in an eternal state like the lily, like _her_ Sasuke.

Beckoned by the boy-child's soundless whimpers, she rose, wore a Kimono so lovely, did up her hair with pretty pins, and touched a kiss of flowers to her lips. She was spring's lesser bride, going to mate with winter when it came, whenever it came; and she went outside when night was still rising to welcome and hide the soft mewls she would release during mating. Powered and pomaded her hair, slickened with softly falling rain.

And she found _that_ place, framed in the fierce white light, where nature had lain wreaths of leaves, lilies, and moths, a farewell to the child; and there he stood, his white back to her, with a web of black strings from which dripped tar; they originated from the open pores that appeared as large as round wounds, bleeding nothing more than more black substance that infested his form.

From each string, as delicate as gossamers that stayed resilient in rain, dangled small cellular clusters, round and black; and as light passed through their flimsy surfaces, they shimmered, black pearls in a delicate strand. His clout of plumage grew, and he gazed down, an expression almost contorting his beautiful countenance—but not quite.

A stronger wind roared at its first coming, exciting and distorting wreaths of mist that floated about the air. The strings broke, unable to carry the weight of the innumerable clusters against the violent lash of wind. The droplets floated away in the air and faded into the light right there in her vision. He gazed over his shoulder, his face clear and fresh and white now, his eyes cool like winter's stones; and where the feathers brushed across his cheeks, she thought she saw a little smile bloom. He looked ahead, and his ridged spine convulsed beneath the sweep of long hair, and within the blink of an eye, he exploded into a murder of crows—they flew away, just like that! And she stood in the evening's lights—alone again . . .

She trod the cloth of earth, embroidered with autumn's flora, and approached the grave, seeds of grief flowing from her eyes; but when she approached the natural-cradle where she had abandoned him, she saw nothing but a cluster of lilies that danced and smiled, as though laughing at her in mockery; and this truth reined back the beast of fear into her breast; her breaths grew deep and hoarse, and before she understood the motions of her own body, she was running towards the colours that stole over this darkness, from the other side of the forest.

When she broke free from the evils of this forest, left behind the handless grasps of shadows that grew blacker by the trees, she came upon a small festival: it was created for a fertility deity; a throng of worshippers carried phallic stone-objects in their hands, chanting songs in dialects she had never heard of. Round lanterns bobbed in the wind, hung from sturdy ropes; and lights, of bright shades, merged and broke away against the darkness that was stronger now than before.

She walked amongst men, woman, and children, her heart a dangerous place of sensations, nostrils full of lovely smells released from the garments of prostitutes: they stood along the _pleasure quarters_ , adorned in clothes bright, and called out in voices loud. One lovely and fresh youth, who appeared one-and-seven years of age, called to her with a boyish smile, and in that innocence, she saw the perversion of lust that called her body unto him for relief.

She had brought coins with her to pay him—silver coins, five hundred of them. He asked her nothing when he closed the door and took her to his floor-bed; and she said nothing whilst he removed her garments and his own in the coloured light that floated inside through the paper-screen, wrecking herself in meager emotions that swelled fiercer when his damp body moulded to hers, skin hot like love apples that grew upon the fields of her cheeks.

And he invaded her again and again, during her spring's love returning reign; and as she saw the twinkling bits of dust, white like gems in the dimmest light that filled this room, she closed her eyes and embraced him like she always wanted to embrace the _True_ Autumn's child—a lesser spring bride, she hoped . . .

# # # # # #

 _Hither came trouble's shadow_

 _Affrighted lily set aquiver in the meadow_

 _So meek for it feared its fate_

 _Innocent and quiet it lay in wait_

 _It lay asleep in illusion's arms_

 _So afflicted by his father's charms_

Sky furtively opened and let loose the first light across the horizon. Itachi travelled through the ferocity of storm, without blinking, without resting. His child was alone in the house, left to the whims of his foes. He had to hurry—Time was not on his side, never was. He wore an ordinary flak jacket, of sickly white shade, his Anbu Captain's tattoo hidden; he had not taken his headband with him, as well. Serizawa was made to dress the same way; they looked like ordinary men of militia.

It was no trouble to catch Miku again; Karin had been kind in lending a hand—a little coercion was enough to bend her prone spirit to the earth. The giddy girl had run into him, called him "Morinaga" (which he assumed to be Sasuke's name when he ran away from home), and immediately fell silent upon the careful observation of his features: he looked like his child, but not quite—no, his child was a similitude of _him_ , almost; but Sasuke was still a boy, a mere child. He had long years ahead of him, to grow.

Her small house was tucked beneath the overgrowth of vines, and a dead tree, overtaken by parasitic flora that bore pretty flowers, abutted the broken tiled-roof, its cracks stuffed with deep-green moss: autumn-rains' damp had boosted its growth. She was most helpful in lending him the scroll, after Serizawa lost his patience and resorted to Sharingan's illusions.

Itachi was content to end her life if it meant that Sasuke's secret would be preserved, but Suigetsu nearly fell into a deep bow, talked of mercy and Sage's penis in profane terms, that he left the matter in Serizawa's able hands; and to the foolish Hōzuki's satisfaction, Itachi's gentle subordinate, a kind-hearted man, decided to spare her life. What followed were thirty precious minutes of Itachi's life utterly lost in watching her mewl upon the wooden-floor (whilst Serizawa tempered with her memory), rich lashes battering against her dewy cheeks, across which cold brushed kisses and left them distinctly pink, and listening to her speak of her time with _his_ child in great and intimate details—in horrific embarrassment. Suigetsu's stream of laughter never stopped.

Itachi left her abode with an ugly temper, skin subtly furrowed on his brow, and took the path with his companions, scroll in hand. It was a treacherous trail that ran along the mountain's side. The barrier, created from the scroll, pulsated about them, dispersing the chakra-accumulating mist. His, and Serizawa's, Sharingan saw the trail with a penetrating sight now. The larger barrier that fed upon something in the bursting vapours billowed about them, like a sail, its colour bright in the morning sun that rose behind the peaks to the east.

When they reached the other side, with the mountain looking out towards the deep forest behind their backs, another trail presented itself by a small village: it was a well-trodden path flanked with prickly bushes that still possessed flowers with blue-tinged tips and pronounced sepals. The flowers, whilst they shook to the breeze, exhaled a sweet fragrance that tasted bitter on his tongue—some kind of spores? He could not say.

A pudgy man told them of a wonderous village illuminated by moon where nights were warm and gentle. Itachi directed his course to the hidden village again, but the man spoke of poisonous spores the flowers released— _their growth's denser in the forest_ , he claimed. He said that the old cloth that covered his carriage was made from chakra-infused silk, a natural repellent from the cocoons of the larvae silkworm produced (they dwelt in the forest and fed on a willowy tree leaves—so he said).

So they set out, with Suigetsu still quite amused by Itachi's temper, in a large carriage led by the most feeble horses Itachi had ever seen. They huffed, snorted, whinnied, stamping their feet after covering a span of hundred feet—every single time—till the wicked man struck them to move again. The fabric that covered the carriage did not give the impression that it had ever been silk: it was frayed, holed, and gave off an odour so foul that his nostrils were stuffed with slimy mucus that made him sick; and he was forced to breathe through his mouth.

Deep breaks in the ground grabbed and released the wooden wheels, and all of the occupants bounced on the buttocks-breaking seats. Itachi's spine ached, and he thought this ordeal might truly break his hips. The entire journey was made even more unpleasant by Suigetsu's mean tricks: he whispered something into a wee-girl's ear, who appeared very much smitten with Itachi's lovely appearance, and she had not stopped throwing scrunched up paper, on which she scribbled few lines about a child's understanding of love with girlish enthusiasm and smiles, at his face through the whole two hours (quite a lot of them lay strewn about his feet, after bouncing off his cheeks, brow, and mouth). Where had she got hold of _this_ much paper?

Serizawa groaned and grumbled by his side, utterly mortified by the small girl's audacity to be so frank and rude with his Lord—the nerve! Lightning crossed Serizawa's features, and unable to bear her behaviour any longer, he lashed out at her in a voice so harsh, one which Itachi had never heard from his lips. Her round face contorted to display melancholy, and a paper summoning scroll, along with a small brush, dropped from her hands. She clung to her mother and started weeping, and the sound of her wailing filled the air . . .

Thankfully, Itachi's journey was at an end, and when he saw Suigetsu whisper something else in the girl-child's ear to start another trouble, he told Suigetsu that he would allow him to experience the effects of flight from the tallest peak in this region, and that, when his miraculous Hōzuki body would meet the sharp points of stones at the foot of the mountain, he would never be able to recollect himself ever again. At this, Suigetsu appeared positively horrified—he grumbled out a rough sound, followed by a forced apology, and followed.

At last they reached the gates of the village, attended by the rugged beginnings of two king-mountains; however, much to Itachi's dismay, they landed into another trouble: a deadly brawl between boorish men. One of them was blasted out from a small building that stood on elevated ground; he tumbled down the jagged stones, landed on a pointy rock, upon which he was cloven in half, and fell down in two splattering parts on the ground—organs and blood flowed thickly out of his ruined body. His legs convulsed and trembled for a few more moments, still pumped full of the last neural signals from his brain.

Suigetsu knelt by the burst torso and spoke: "when ya nut but she keep suckin'!" His grin turned into a rising laughter that quickly dwindled into short coughs and wheezes at the sight of Itachi's wrathful features; so he let out a final chortle, hid his teeth, and choked out "sorry" with a sagging mouth.

Not a moment passed when five men landed around them, swords held aloft. They meant business. Their sudden appearance only served to bring forth irritation from Itachi who delivered a thorough, bone-cracking beating to the thugs, without any intervention from Serizawa. He did not want his Lord to lift a finger, but at least, this small battle allowed Itachi to release his anger (in healthier ways).

"Look at ya—" a comely voice spoke from the shadows, "—I'd kill ta feel the movement of yor hips in me bed!" A singing laughter succeeded the woman that walked out from the shadow: she wore strange and loose Shinobi attire, in her hand a short sword; her person tall and lissome; her fair face frame by twisted, thick hanks of dirty-brown hairs.

"Who are you?" Serizawa spoke, hand locking to the hilt with such swiftness that the woman showed surprise.

"Lower yor bow, Itsuno—just some travellers," she said with the subtle turn of her head, and not a moment later, a tall and thin man appeared from the bushes; he had almost let loose an arrow.

"I'm Yoko—one of the _Guard-Shinobis_ 'ere," she said, eyeing the mess the fallen man had created. "Ya killed the thieves—nasty men. They stole jewels from our Lord. One of 'em tried ta take the jewels fer 'imself. Poor lil' bastard." She knelt down by the bloody pair of legs and fumbled in the heavily stained pants to locate the pouch. She took it out with a pronounced smile on her face that was made quite mischievous by her hazel eyes, appearing yellow in the sunlight.

"What's yor business 'ere, lovely? Don't look it like yor from 'round 'ere." Yoko said, her voice sing-song as if she was speaking to a pup.

"I need to speak to your Lord. Hōzuki business," Itachi said, cutting to the chase and ignoring her over-bearing behaviour. They had wasted too much time already.

Yoko let out a girlish laughter that rattled through the air; then she looked at him up and down, eyes agleam with wickedness. "Hōzuki business, eh? Wouldn't advise it—a pretty thin' like ya? Ya wouldn't be able ta walk fer days," she spoke, her last words broken by hearty chuckles.

"You can let your Lord decide," Serizawa spoke and firmed his hold on the hilt. His temper had not cooled down since that dreadful carriage incident.

Yoko's smile widened, and she cast a curious glance at Jūgo, who stood quietly behind Suigetsu. "A'right. Don't say I didn't warn ya—follow me," she said and walked to two stones, which had sacred ropes tied about them, that stood in the shade. Itsuno went behind her, with Itachi and Serizawa in their wake.

"Man, what an evil grouch! Compared ta this one, Sasuke's the happiest jester in the fuckin' circus," Suigetsu remarked, and when no reply came from Jūgo _,_ Suigetsu snapped his head at him and gave him a glare most foul. "Are ya a mute? Say somethin', faggit!"

Jūgo remained silent, adjusted his large cloak (after petting the colourful birds' heads poking out from the numerous pockets), and set out behind the two Uchiha men. Suigetsu let out a string of profanities behind his back and followed, too.

The forest was dense with trees, of different variety, and undergrowth and teemed with life. The bitter smell of spores wafted to them, but Yoko told them that it was not anything that would affect their wellness. (Itachi could not _believe_ he had been duped and robbed of fifty copper coins, by a shifty old man no less!)

They walked for several long minutes through the forest, coming upon a few clear streams along the way, which carried autumn-coloured leaves on their currents, and caves with black mouths gaping. Smells from flora, denizens of this forest, soaked through the air's fabric, causing it to become thick and heavy.

Konoha's forest released light odours. This place was . . . strange, and Itachi could not tell why. It seemed that some strange phenomenon operated upon the apparatus of the forest—but how? This was a question for another time, for they could see patches of a sturdy wooden gate between the shapes of flora.

When they stepped out of the forest, a small village, wedged between two smooth mountains, each wearing a clout made from this season's shades, greeted them; and by the gates was a fat man (a trouble-maker, silver-haired and gleaming-eyed, with a blubbery and drooping belly, beneath which, a swarm of hair moved) who gave chase to a woman—naked. She let out screams and shouted "Help!" and hid behind Jūgo.

"The fuck's that—a rotten mushroom's head?" Suigetsu commented, stepping forward to stand beside Itachi, mouth twisting in disgust at the sight of the bulbous prick standing amidst an unkempt mass of twisting strands. "Cover yor junk, man!"

The crazed man laughed and ran towards the woman, but at the last moment (a movement which was too fast for Itachi's tired senses to register), lunged for Itachi and embraced him in a death-grip. Itachi, calm at first, slowly lost his composure when he felt the man grazing his penis against his left thigh, his eyes widening with each slow stroke; but for the life of him, he could not move!

"Yor the most beautiful t-thin' I've ever s-seen!" he slurred and increased the speed of his strokes, with Itachi still clasped violently to his belly.

"Let 'im go, you faggit! He ain't a whore!" Suigetsu shouted and tried to open his arms outward, slowly, but he was stone! With each touch, a large flow of chakra left Suigetsu's system. (He was aided quite fruitlessly in this endeavour by Serizawa.)

"Hey, now—dontchya think that big sword's a bit much? Can't letchya do that—he's our Lord," Yoko spoke, breast fluttering with laughter, and watched when Suigetsu sheathed his sword again, in a begrudging manner.

"What the fu—let 'im go!" he shouted, and then he screamed when thin and sudden jets of seminal fluid (which had sprung from the short and pursy man's bloated organ) landed on Suigetsu's face. "He came in me face! Fuck the Sage! Kami—Kami—Kami! He came in me face! He came in me face!" Suigetsu emitted ungodly screams, not caring that Serizawa had been knocked out cold by his feet, struggling to wipe the thick, dangling strands from his mouth and cheeks.

Next to him, Itachi convulsed when nearly all his chakra was siphoned from his chakra-system; his eyes went back into his head, and he fell down on his back, unconscious, his black trousers stained at the thighs by a generous smear of the man's viscous ejaculation.

Then someone cracked Suigetsu's knees, a small boy with a thick wooden-stick in his hand; and when he slumped down onto his knees, wincing in pain, he cracked his head. Suigetsu fell sideways, losing consciousness. Last he saw, before blackness consumed the idyllic scenery in his vision, was Itachi being dragged away by the arms at the lecherous man's command.

And behind this chaos, Jūgo stood watching, utterly confused . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : The menstrual cycles don't quite function in this manner; so about half of this "biology" was created for this fiction. And, yes, I'm aware that Shizune's hair is black in canon manga. I decided to give her dark-brown hair (on a whim).

 **Corse** , Archaic, corpse.

 **Love Apples** , Archaic, tomatoes.


	70. A New Playtime

**Chapter Seventy** : A New Playtime

# # # # # #

It did not take long for the Uchiha, who had experienced a particularly riveting fainting spell, to feel the birth of a robust chakra flare at an alarming pace in his system—he was a young man, after all. Cleared of mucus, his nostrils expanded with the accompaniment of a stuffy sound, and his red lips parted with mirthless delight. His mind, responding to the sensory impulses, was entering into a state of wakefulness, alertness even.

Well, he was not that particularly alert; and his mind, almost too keen to remain in the peaceful state of sleep, had just begun to register the sounds collecting into his ears (like a meandering sludge), sensations creeping in menacing silence across his skin, and weights pressing against his genitals, which he could tell were still properly covered by his trousers.

His eyes opened just a crack to investigate, almost wrestling against the firmly entwined lashes—and he possessed such long ones, too! Light floated against his vision and filled up the vibrating lines of things around him: little white cups in an alcove, an expensive partition-screen patched with shadows, charms clinking together against the playfulness of wind, and . . . his flak jacket? This was most concerning; no wonder he could feel things going across his skin with such clarity.

And he strained his head and gazed upon the grinning face, framed in the wildest curls that had survived through the sweep of hurricane winds, of a feral creature that reared its head from the darkness that lay upon and between the valley of his trouser-covered thighs. Its smiling mouth, a lamenting crescent, rose just above the sleeping peak of his loins in a slow ascent. Oh, Kami, what manner of creature was this that hungered for his flesh? _Evil was a relative term_ ( _and he was the most beautiful and tragic man in the world_!), but he could think of nothing else to define the wanton intent that radiated unchallenged from the countenance shrouded in the clichés of lofty pursuits, of which he was a part.

Darkness, like a man, drew in and hovered above him, all menacing and ill-omened; and then he saw a mean, watery mouth pursed over teeth a shade too white, bounded by a fine-cut moustache and beard. His Sharingan's perspective was constrained to things he could see—how awful was this state of weakness?

And when he caught sight of a gob of saliva dangling from the fallen commissures of the man's mouth that turned greedy, his hand moved fast, a Shinobi's lethal action, before his mind had had the opportunity to think of the right re-action for this hair-raising situation.

The Sharingan, still protesting in slow disobedience, fizzled and visited upon his eyes to convey the nature of the threat this man posed to his loins, which had remained unsullied by a man's hand—since that one terrible incident in the past, though he had washed his hands and mind clean of it, mostly.

His hand closed around the throat and dug into the folds; and he sensed rather than felt the beats galloping in heartfelt frenzy alongside his fingers that created dimpled pink depressions in the man's soft skin. The pudgy man's eyes bulged like two unrelenting skin-rash protrusions, arms flailing about; his throat went hoarse with the building air stuffed tightly inside his lower respiratory-tract.

Slowly, his face changed shades, going from brilliant white to mellow blue in his sweat-beaten cheeks and forehead; and when the old man looked as if he might pass his final breath in a choking sound that came out as a sputtered and muffled, "y-you beautiful, cruel w-whore!", he thrust his knee into his pillow-y stomach, which caved into itself in wobbly waves, and threw him back. The man flew across the room and crashed into an expensive set of drawers, utterly destroying them.

The sound reverberated across the rooms; and soon, he heard thumping of heavy steps; and not a moment later, a rather flustered Suigetsu burst into the room whilst waving his Executioner's Blade, screaming things about his boss's _untouched posterior_!

Suffice to say, he sat up straight at Suigetsu's shouts and relaxed his alert posture (almost immediately) when his mind figured out that his nipples were unharmed; his critical locations, uncompromised; then he looked down at his thigh, his Sharingan throbbing like the fat fool's ever-ready cock, in sheer anger: the man had actually ejaculated on his trousers and left a stain so big that it glared like Buddha's divine countenance in his Sharingan-dressed eyes. By the Sage, he would _murder_ this bastard! Murder him!

It took the combined efforts of Suigetsu and Serizawa to keep him from inflicting serious harm upon the randy rascal who lay out-cold on his back, with an insolent cock as stiff as ever. Lord Sage, this whole ordeal disgusted him to no end—when would it end? Surely, not before it ended him!

Upon seeing his young Lord's misgivings, Serizawa took it upon himself to wash the stain clean from Itachi's trousers, with tear-filled eyes no less. He felt personally responsible for not resorting to harsher methods to pry the fool off his still-innocent Lord (Itachi's sexual adventures since his boyhood days with harlots not withstanding). Why, in his eyes, Itachi was still a stripling boy of twenty and nine! His poor Lord—his poor Commander.

But Itachi would have none of this fishy trousers' business. To make matters _still_ worse, he refused to slip back into the clothes tainted by the man's ejaculations, not before the arrangement of new and pristine garments was made. Serizawa's Lord could be a picky prick sometimes, but he adored him just the same. Suigetsu, on the other hand, had had enough of Itachi's cool tantrums, but he was still so afraid of him that he bit his tongue, choosing silence.

When day went away in smooth resignation towards night, Itachi locked himself up in an onsen, assaulting his body with a scrub till harsh red blotches materialized across his skin in varied patterns (he looked as if he had been pecked by wild cocks!); but he did not care; he was clean, _finally_ . . . he would just have to force his mind to forget that he was taken advantage of, without his knowledge no less!

At night, the strange village glowed with stray vaporous globules that travelled upon the air, which was quite cold and moist; and they had arisen in sheer numbers from the stream that burst forth from the side of a tall mountain. Suspended in air, they danced to the whims of winds like faeries in garments pristine, held sway by moonlight strings; and when Men passed through them, they began their merry shudders.

Yoko told him that the village Suigetsu came from was special—that its chakra was special. He did not understand. Though, when he enquired more from her, she informed him of her ignorance: she had never stepped foot in the village since her childhood—she was not allowed back inside. The subject was closed . . .

The Lord of this village, Yoshimasa Shiba, was an odd sort of man. To say that he was relentless would be to put it lightly. In his pursuit of flesh, he courted all manner of creatures: men, women, and sometimes, the in-between biological anomalies—he was not deterred. By day, he was an astute bureaucrat who managed the affairs beyond borders, fringes of this treacherous land; by night, he engaged in drunk merry-making and ran mating marathons till the first morning call of the biggest cock in the village—truly.

The sodomite Shiba, as he was known by dissidents (Yoko was quite infuriated having to reiterate their accusations), was a fool's fool, a romantique, an idealist . . . or something of the sort; however, Itachi could say for sure that he was in silent agreement with the dissidents: the man was a nuisance—a hunter without claws, just a foppish dandy with a plumage too distracting for his perceived notions of manhood.

Presently, Itachi sat beneath the glaring light of a lantern. It was feeding on chakra-infused oil, and the flame burnt brighter than it normally would, releasing a vulgar red all over the table, sake, and occupants. A coquettish woman, who sat by the table, sang with a gottan in her hands:

 _In the evening they play_

 _Shy women and men of may_

 _The bright sun went down_

 _And he went looking for his crown_

 _He found it rising between his thighs_

 _Excited at the sound of her cries_!

The whole crowd cheered and clinked their sake-filled cups together in joyous laughter, but he could manage no more than a frown. By his side, Serizawa lowered his head and gaze when the woman disrobed herself and danced naked upon the table with a feisty man—who was just as bare. This place was much too vulgar for his refined sensibilities.

To make matters more unpleasant, Shiba was quite fascinated by Itachi's arm, which he caressed with a love-sick grin that assailed the barely held-together contours of his youth-less mouth. Rough lines that etched the extremities of his eyes deepened with the expression on his countenance that appeared to resemble lechery. It was not a new tale for his facial muscles that seemed to ease into their routine with an effortless effect; and below the furious red, Itachi could say with surety that the man looked quite frightening.

Itachi ignored him, quite busy tasting the dango treats the servants had prepared. They were tender, sweetened just right. The texture was impeccable, and the sweetness dissolved on his tongue like butter—gooey and slippery! Itachi was on cloud nine, and he peeked up at the wisps of light, dispersing like excited fireflies, through his lashes, almost smiling at the feeling.

"I like the sight of ya takin' that into yor mouth," Shiba spoke, his voice honeyed and thick.

He stopped chewing, looking down at Shiba's age-wrecked face glowing with want under the forest of rough hair, unable to swallow, unable to spit it out. Bubbles of air collected at the back of his throat, and he went into a fit of coughs, his hand going to his mouth. At that precise moment, Serizawa slammed a fist into his back, and he had to spit the damn candy out! The slimy dango-bits splattered across the table, and both dancers slipped as a result, landing flat on their buttocks. The woman, followed by the very drunk man, ran away screaming . . .

Shiba, to his utmost horror, appeared quite delighted at the way Itachi spat out his precious trove of spittle. "Ya naughty lil' minx!" Shiba spoke and winked, his hand bringing up the fan, holding it to his smiling lips.

A flame of colour radiated dangerously along Itachi's neck, burning brighter than the rashes he had created earlier; but before he could actually hurt the man, Suigetsu wedged himself between the two.

"Oh'kay, calm yor prick, ya tosser!" he spoke, sat himself down, picked up a dango from the plate, which Itachi was never going to touch again—probably.

"The Hōzuki lad be talkin', and he's slimy," Shiba spoke, his smile almost vanishing from his red-speckled, puffy cheeks.

"And fer good reason," he said and munched noisily on the dango, "I need ta get in the village. Me bellend and balls might freeze and fall off. Don't like it 'ere, mate—don't like it at all!"

Suigetsu slurped on the thick sauce as it dripped from the dango. Shiba's mouth curved down in annoyance. "I liked that beauty's manner of eatin'," he said, sighing, "ya disgust me, lad."

Itachi could tolerate the man's villainy no longer, so he got up and walked away—but not before he caught Suigetsu's words, " _ya crazy_! _Spitters are quitters_!" terrorize his mind; he pretended that he did not hear him . . .

"There he goes—" Shiba stopped and puffed out a bated breath, eyes still following Itachi, "—ya ruin me fun, lad."

Suigetsu passed his tongue over his teeth and looked over to Shiba whose face had gone sullen, and he looked dead serious.

"Shut it, ya mad ol' codger!" Suigetsu hissed and his eyes widened. "That thin' looks pretty as a candy, but it's not the pot ya wanna stick yor beak into. Unless ya wanna lose it? Let's get back ta business. I need ta get into the village. Now!"

"I can't help ya," he said, quite off-handedly, passing his gaze over every man and woman packed into the small restaurant. The air had gone thick as mud with the smells of sweat, spices, and Sage knew what else.

"What—why?" he asked and wiped his hand across his cheeks. Quite a bit of sweat had gathered into large droplets along his cheekbones and nose; and in the red light, they looked like squishy boils from a nasty flora infection.

"Ya know why we call this the Water Sprout Village?" he spoke and looked at Suigetsu who shook his head twice. "It's 'cause of the water that comes frem the mountain. It loses its strength, but it's still special—the chakra it's got is special.

"Don't ask me why—I don't know. It just is. And I can't get ya inside the village, 'cause I can't—I really can't. The Elder of the village, a sickly lookin' codger, comes an' goes as he pleases. We don't even know wher' he comes frem. It's a maze a' caves up ther'. Ya get lost and drown in the salt-water. If that doesn't do it, the smell 'ill kill ya . . . but they give us medicine, so we keep 'em secret safe. Yoko would've killed ya on sight had ya not been a Hōzuki—yor blood kept ya safe, lad."

Then he coughed and inserted the polished tip of a long pipe into his mouth to inhale tobacco. He seemed quite fond of traditional smoking. The smoke was filtered by water (the contraption that supplied the smoke was placed by his feet); he remembered his father being fond of this activity, too—the memory of him was quite hazy in his mind.

"Yoko a Sensor?" Suigetsu asked, watching Shiba nod, draw deep, and expel, from his wet nose and crinkled mouth, clouds of concentrated grey smoke in front of his confused face, afterwards. The man would not live past the end of next season, he imagined.

The noise in the small restaurant had become unbearable: men and women sang strange songs, played old instruments, danced in a drunken frenzy—they fell upon each other in wild laughter. The smell, cloying and spicy, hit his senses from all directions, making it difficult for him to ascertain the location of his presently-irritated leader.

At last, Suigetsu located him, standing rigid and stern beneath the fiery light of the lantern in all his glory, all white and lovely in appearance, never in manner, with blush a shade too deep glaring on his cheeks, forehead, little portions of his throat. The hostess was absolutely smitten with him, all toothy smiles and pretty blushes; but he treated her in the same manner he treated all potential lovers: she was not going to reach his bed anytime soon. (His refusals were a _blessing_ in disguise . . .)

By his side stood Jūgo who loomed over the tiny hostess; and in the light that coiled around them like twisty hatchlings, Suigetsu was surprised by the revelation that Jūgo was a little taller than the intimidating Uchiha, though that did not diminish his fearsome demeanour in his eyes—not one bit. He was still as ghastly as ever, as ghostly as ever.

He shivered, drawing his eyes and mind away from Itachi for moments of respite. Casting his gaze heavily upon Shiba, Suigetsu realized that Shiba was still looking at Itachi. He, along with his thoughtless cock, was starting to get on his nerves!

"Just point me ta the right place, and I'll look fer it meself. Yor no help ta me," he spoke and rose to his feet, with a pronounced shake of his head. Then he straightened his cloak—which smelt of sweat, spices, and sake now—and gazed at Shiba who seemed almost baffled at his suggestion.

"But ya might die, lad—why ya wanna die?" he asked and bounced to his feet, and the pipe's mouthpiece fell from his lips with a pop.

"Fuckin' Sage! I ain't got time fer this!" he spoke, loudly this time, a vein popping up in his strained temple.

"Ya wee lad—" Shiba spoke and wrung his hands together, visibility frustrated by the youth's temerity to investigate the caves, "—the cave's at the foot of the mountain—by the Buddha's statue. Don't kill yorself, ya young fool. Why, when I was yor age—"

Suigetsu did not bother himself to listen to the man's stories of yesteryear; so he waded through the crowd and made his way towards the older Uchiha brother who had quite the temper to display tonight. Sometimes, he truly missed the younger one's company, more than he would like to admit.

"This sake tastes delightfully sweet . . . strange," Itachi spoke and placed the cup back on the tray the hostess carried—this simple gesture deepened her blush to an impossible shade of pink, but the cold winds of dismissal that blew from him next made the colour vanish utterly. Then her lively mouth and expression just sagged in a sullen manner, and she briskly walked away into the curtain of bodies and faces—which Suigetsu would never see again.

"I thought ya liked sweets, boss," Suigetsu spoke, a cautious smile still forming across his lips, and threw the hood over his head; it was a rough one, stitched haphazardly with a thick black thread to the rest of the garment. Itachi did not speak a word—his eyes appeared red-flecked without Sharingan. He was probably a little intoxicated on the taste of sake, and its effect was apparent in the concentrated pink colour spreading over his cheeks that were usually smooth, of almost dour white hue.

"Oh, Kami! Where didya come frem?" Suigetsu exclaimed, nearly jumping away from Shiba who had materialized between Itachi and him.

"Stay here!" he pleaded whilst he held Itachi's thin long hand in his death-tight grasp, "I'll do anythin' fer ya!"

"He's weeping . . . " Jūgo spoke, without an emotion—though it was ghostly, his countenance exhibited the beginnings of a curious expression, and it frightened Suigetsu that he was even capable of it.

"This fuckin' wanker! As if we didn't hav' enough of 'em back in the Village," he muttered, horrified by the dangerous, wrathful shade glowing in Itachi's eyes and cheeks. He was working himself into a rare version of anger; and as much disharmony this emotion created with his cultivated features, it spelt nothing but trouble for this man.

"Release my hand," Itachi spoke in a voice that was unusually calm. The man shook his head vehemently in response and pouted like a snot-nosed audacious child of one and ten.

"Yor askin' fer trouble, mate! His pointy hill ain't the spot ya wanna croak your arse on. It blows too cold up ther'—it just blows!" Suigetsu warned whilst he took one slow and two quick steps backwards.

Serizawa's teeth came together and snapped shut with such force that Suigetsu thought he heard a creaky sound over the noise, his face possessed by rage. His Lord's rump was in peril—again—and he would lay down his life to protect its virtue, at all costs! ( _False-writer whores be damned! Evil was not a relative term_!)

"Oh, ta lov' a beauty so cold without havin' the delight of samplin' the flesh—Dear Sage, ya hav' made his cock cold. Make it warm fer me!" he wailed and pressed Itachi's knuckled-hand to his temple. "'e can hop down ta the cav' like a lil' hare after I've had his—"

And he did not get a chance to complete his sentence. The young Lord unleashed his anger on him. Wails from Shiba, friend, and foe filled the restaurant, and by the time Itachi was through with him, Suigetsu did not think his dangling old testicles had survived the assault.

Itachi walked through the door with an angry and smooth strut (Serizawa, imitating Itachi's demeanour, left the same way). He left poor Shiba in a comatose state, with his cock sticking straight up—a monument to the unrelenting lust of this love-sick fool.

"Of all the thin's ta get mad over, it's the dam' bunny rabbit that pushes ya over the edge!" Suigetsu whispered, winched at the sight of the wilting cock, and ran out the door, too! Jūgo was not far behind . . .

When they reached the foot of the mountain, inside its lumbering shadow that was coal black against the black that covered the forest's bed, it was night. A breeze came from the midst of trees and pulled sounds and smells of flora along. Their noses were blocked with mucus again—damned spores!

Itachi instructed them not to linger and turned to the cave, with his Sharingan lighting up like a predictable wildfire contained in the black of his eyes. Though, to their surprise, he immediately made vanish the brilliant red, leaving behind the same dull tone of colour.

He stepped into the black mouth of the cave, a blacker shadow against softer black inside the cave. Everyone else followed with slow steps; and not a moment too soon, the salt-tinted air filled up their nostrils and cleared them of all mucus. The air inside the cave dripped so thickly with a briny odour that every man felt he was inhaling a fistful of salt!

Itachi, just for a moment, wedged his nose in the crook of his elbow. His Sharingan came and went, a _truer_! feline in the dark. He could see nothing! A great chakra was suspended before his vision, like a thick veil made from innumerable silk layers without the craftsmanship of a delicate and careful hand, in thick clouds. It possessed the colour that flowed in Suigetsu's system, only more potent and of heavier hue.

It was no use—he would just have to make do without his Sharingan. Without a word, Serizawa understood, and, placing a hand over his nose, he breathed through his mouth: the air, heavy as an unmoving sludge, burnt his lungs; however, it was not so unbearable.

Both Uchihas kindled flames over their free hands: light radiated outwards and upwards and glimpsed over wet stones. The cave's walls, tarred with the same brush, were brilliant black, shining. Occasionally, they saw streaks of silver embedded in-between the crevices that cradled many flowers with shades pretty: blue, red, yellow, they grew across the walls in clusters and trembled against the air stirring with their presence. Sound of water resonated in the empty pathways inside the cave, but it came from all directions, sublime and mellow—it was impossible to know the source of the sound's making.

The boot-sucking mud exuded a nerve-shaking scent as they went deeper into the cave. Their sandals squelched and went into the soft ground; and Itachi noticed that the water falling in crisscrossing streams from the walls had a bluer shade. Alarmed that they might lose their way in this unforgivable maze, Itachi instructed Jūgo to locate water. The large man complied, and within moments, he was able to direct them to an appropriate section where clear water slapped against the stones.

The beaded mask of droplets fell away from the walls as they went further in, hip-deep in water now. Replaced by a venous cover of tree-roots, the walls grew higher, and the cave, wider. In the fire's light, Itachi saw luminescent fish of colours bright swimming around his legs. The water was crystal clear and the smell of salt, gone; however, a new smell had occupied the space between the flourishing garden that spread unchecked on the walls. It was strangely reminiscent of the one the spores-releasing flowers in the village exuded, but it did not block off his nostrils.

"What is that smell?" Itachi spoke as though he was thinking out loud. Everyone stopped, and fish flurried to the surface, mouths flapping to grab the strange droplets falling from roots, and swam back down.

"He who smelt it dealt it!" Suigetsu spat out in a frenzied pitch, and then went as quiet as a punished child afterwards when he realised that it was Itachi who posed the question. The salt in the air had not been kind to his senses that were going berserk.

"It smells like the flowers in the village," Serizawa spoke, and Jūgo nodded in agreement.

"They have the same energy, but it feels more powerful here," Jūgo spoke, his voice heavier than the other two, almost thick like the salt-filled air in the previous section of the cave.

"I don't know, mate—" Suigetsu stopped and slumped down on a large and smooth stone, a portion of which was present above water, "—I just wanna get the fuck outta 'ere. Fuck this village, mate—just fuck it!"

"Giving up so soon?" Itachi asked, his mouth smiling in the fire's light. "I did not think you to be a prophet of chatter—not always."

"That ain't nice!" Suigetsu spoke, with the same pitch. "Whatdoya know? Why, I've been livin' a life a' lies. Lies!

"Me pa and mum didn't sleep in the same bed. I got ta know 'bout knobbin' frem a shifty juice-vendor! I was a wee lad of ten. Deep down, me thinks he wanted me baby-smooth arse. The faggot!"

And silence. Suigetsu breathed deeply for a few moments, disturbing air and nerves, and again he launched into raptures about his troubled past life, with more fervour this time: "pa went away, and I had ta cover me arse with his smelly rags. They stank, mate—they stank!

"A-Spot, P-Spot, O-Spot, G-Spot—they don't exist! They don't! It's a lie—everything's a lie! Yor fancy eye can dismantle the puss' and put it back tagether. Me can't! Last lass slapped the shit outta me. She urinated in me face! Ya hear me? Me face! Me fuckin' face!" And then his voice turned into sobbing pleas for a better time, a good time—everyone stared dumbfounded, though Itachi's expression was less perceivable behind his usual mask.

"I see the salt has affected his head," Itachi remarked, ignoring Suigetsu's air-piercing wails, "can you Sense a way out? I can only tolerate so much of this emotionally-charged . . . episode."

Jūgo placed his hand on the portion of wall that had escaped the onslaught of flora and merged with the energy coursing and surging through this cave's excited veins. It did not take long for the cave to speak to his otherworldly senses and grant him a glimpse at the door that awaited their arrival.

When Jūgo backed away, his palms covered in droplets, Itachi asked him to lead the way; and in a small instance of fascination with floating chakra, Itachi's hand landed on a sharp edge of a protruding-rock in the wall; the stone went in deep, and instantly, a stream of blood erupted from the cut and fell down in small droplets, which shone crimson in the water.

The fish were particularly ravenous, swimming around with mouths open, to collect the red that coagulated like a solid bead, almost in resistance to the chakra-filled water: his blood had waged a war against the invasion. He did not understand. He raised his hand and looked at the large red droplets, slipping away from a string of smaller ones, that collected without opposition over his skin; and when it fell down from his fingertip, creating a slight pink hue upon contact with the water's surface, it changed its form into a semi-solid state, yet again. Strange—very strange.

"Itachi-Sama—" Serizawa spoke and stopped in surprise, his hands reaching out to grab hold of Itachi's injured one.

"It is just a cut," Itachi spoke, pushed his good hand into his pocket, and pulled out a small cloth. It was white and he wound it around his hand to stop the bleeding. Blood soaked through the fabric, and red spots appeared soon after; but, at least, he had stopped the bleeding.

They set out to the cave's exit, with a reluctant Suigetsu in tow. With Jūgo as their guide, it did not take long for them to reach the mouth, upon which an airy garment of moonlight lay. The air outside was fresh, stuffed full of fragrances pleasant. Moon hung majestic in the night that was clear, calm, cool. It cast a heavier shade over the mountain, compelling its sinister half to run further into the night on the other side. And there, sleeping as if a dimpling babe, lay a lake—silver applied to its surface that rippled slightly with night's breaths.

Itachi looked up at the horizon where dawn merged with dark, together joined in a fool's act of pleasure. The spectacle lasted for a few moments over the rising arc of the horizon; and at last, light conquered and spilt forth and came down as curling waves through mist that covered the mountains.

Morning broke upon the valley, and a sense of relief filled the men as they gazed upon the droplets that rose up from the lake—laughing faeries! And when they touched Itachi's cut, he felt a soothing sensation affect his nerves, _profoundly_. He unwound the red-dappled cloth and noticed how the droplets collected between the broken tissue and settled there: his wound was healing, faster than it normally would!

". . . strange," Itachi spoke, his voice dripping with a softer tone. Suigetsu did not say a word. This place was very strange—stranger than he had imagined!

# # # # # #

They trod the benign face of the mountain, decorated with lush foliage, upon which a net of shimmering droplets rested—each suffused with morning's colour; each hanging from the most delicate strings spiders had created with love at morn. Upon reaching the summit, they noticed a small settlement by an energetic stream that was still releasing droplets up into the air—it sang in delight. Never before had Itachi felt that he was in a stranger's land; but, now, he was not so sure of this sentiment.

The chakra-carrying particles, bright as confused stars, were everywhere, dispersed by every natural source of water that originated from the tallest, most wondrous mountain in their gazes, in front of which crawled its softest shadow. Itachi did not allow them to be distracted by this place's beauty; as inviting as it was, they had to climb down and reach the settlement.

And so they did, invigorated by the droplets as they collided with their sweat-coated pores, went into their blood-streams to mingle with the essence of them; for Uchiha men, this enjoyment did not come easy: their chakra rejected the invaders and the promised unholy union; formed a cocoon around them; travelled in form of bumpy protrusions, visible in the veins, before they vanished after a few moments (which caused them an immense surge of pain). This reaction become more and more mellow as time passed by; their chakra reacted strongly with each entry till it became potent enough to kill the substance as soon as it breached their veins. It was the strangest thing . . . was it Autumn who created a miracle for her children? Itachi could not say for sure.

After reaching the mountain's foot, they located shade below the large trees, their limbs thick with leaves. Few slivers of yellow, reaching the leaves-covered ground, passed through the droplets that hung in the air, persistent. They did not linger and set their course to the point where the village lay.

When they were close to the settlement, around which a boundary of brightly coloured flowers was made, an old man emerged from a grove of trees that bore the freshest succulent fruits: he appeared frail, thin, withered; with a stick in hand, he walked with a great stoop; he wore loose-fitting, porous clothing; and upon noticing Itachi, his large eyes became abnormally larger as though he was about to experience a painful stroke with a smile.

His walk became faster and wobblier, his poorly-cut wooden-stick going back and forth—back and forth. He stopped just short of Itachi and took his hand in his trembling fist, his grey-tinted eyes misting. In the morning, his tears that went into the grooves in his face were bright.

"He'd said som' lad frem his clan 'ill come, and her' ya are!" he spoke, an excited inflection coming into the murmur of his voice.

"A man from my clan?" Itachi asked (in confusion) and gently settled his own hand over the man's hand that had formed a fist around his own.

The man nodded and pointed his stick towards a place that was beyond this village, a place he could not see. "I came frem ther'—just beyond the 'ill," he explained, bringing his stick back down. "Come come!" Then he pulled his hand back and, without speaking another word, began marching at an unnaturally brisk pace towards the wilderness of another forest.

Needless to say, they had little choice but to follow; and so they did, treading amid chakra droplets that presented an unrelenting state against the gentle rain: they rose whilst it came down, going up to gather at the cloud's soft underbelly in great numbers—penetrating white against surrendering grey. The men kept walking without respite in the rain that remained blissfully light and soft and tender.

At last, after walking for so long, the old man led them into a cave hidden by the overgrowth of shrubbery. It was less a cave and more a tunnel that lead to a shrine that was . . . empty and quiet. Water gathered in natural stone-basins and slipped down into the channels it had carved over the years.

"It rises frem the 'eart of the mountain. We're blessed!" he spoke, excited, whilst he mounted the stone-stairs made by man's hands, not Nature's. His voice penetrated the silence of this place, and droplets, almost motionless before, vibrated and produced a resonating sound peaking to a disarming crescendo. Then they went inert, hanging in the air like attentive faeries' heads.

"Come—sit sit!" he spoke, his voice still jubilant, affected just a bit by his quick and rough breathing—he was tired. He took off his withered-sandals made of aged-leather that had probably lasted him a lifetime and settled by a sunken fireplace; it was cold.

They did the same and sat down, except Jūgo. He was much too fascinated by the birds that swooped down, landed on his hands, and trilled of their stories to the man who was most understanding of their troubles.

"Strange lad!" The old man smiled and re-kindled the fireplace with a rudimentary Katon Jutsu. Just a few spittle-like flames went out from his dry-as-sand mouth, but, thankfully, they were enough to warm the coals again.

"Ya don't wanna know," Suigetsu spoke at last, feeling quite well after the unfortunate loss of control in the previous cave. He, mercifully, had his wits about him now.

Silence . . . none of them spoke, gazes wandering like children in search of grander things. Beneath the light, pouring forth from a large hole in the cave's roof, stood two stone-statues, their stone-bosoms chilled by the cool air's mercy. Sun was going lower now, casting an intense shadow that crept along the floor. It would be dusk soon—they had spent the whole day walking.

Feeling the need to start the conversation, Itachi spoke first: "Are you a Sensor? You would not have known who I was without this skill."

The old man smiled at the sight of Itachi's Sharingan that greeted him with a manufactured warmth he could not reject, nor resist; and his wind-beaten face grew jovial; his cheeks, tight and red. "Aye!" he spoke, "me pa taught it ta me. So lon' ago that I don't remember much af it. Times a' war, ya see. So many lads and lasses came runnin' fer refuge. We Hōzuki had ta protect 'em. It was hard livin' back in the day, lad. Hard livin'!"

"Y-Yor—" Suigetsu exclaimed, almost jumping to his feet. Bewilderment was as apparent as day on his face.

"His chakra is less potent than yours, but he is a Hōzuki," Itachi spoke, his tone a bit sweeter than usual, Sharingan's fires sleeping beneath the winter of his eyes now, "is that not true . . . ?"

The old man laughed, and his laughter had a deep rumbling sound that lingered in the cave, tinkling air and droplets alike. "Takashi Hōzuki, lad," he paused and took a quick sip from a leather water-bottle that hung from his hip, "old age hit me hard just a couple a' years back. Me back's ruined, but I ain't goin' down easy."

Takashi took in a great breath, straightened his posture with his cane, and tried to look like a retired militia soldier, though Itachi would not be surprised if he was one in his youth. "What 'ill ya lads eat?" he asked and rubbed his right eye clean, "we caught good fish in the mornin'. A fat one. Haruko an' Haruo are makin' a feast fer tanight. I'll eat in the evenin', but ya lads look hungry."

"I'll take a—"

"We will eat with you at dusk," Itachi cut across Suigetsu, ignoring his long-winded groan that seemed to go on without a promised end, "I would like to know more about the man you knew—the man from my clan."

Takashi's grip tightened on the rough top of the wooden-cane, and swollen veins in his hand swelled up more. At length he spoke, his voice steadier than before: "I was just a wee lad back when the Uchiha came ta the village. He was a young lad. Couldn't hav' been older than ya. A war was goin' on in his home village, and he said he was wanderin' the lands in self-exile.

"He settled down in a 'ouse by a stream not far frem 'ere. Then he grew sick one spring night. The cold af this place got 'im. And when autumn came, he was gone—just like that. We couldn't sav' 'im, lad. We tried, but we couldn't. His chakra rejected the water 'ere, and sickness took 'im. Shame—he was just a lad." Then he was shaking his head, positively grief-stricken.

Itachi parted his lips to ask Takashi of something, but he forestalled him: "we buried 'im by the 'ouse. He wanted us ta carve the name af his brother on the gravestone. Even when he was dyin', he loved 'im. It broke me heart." He dragged in a rough breath, calming his lasting sense of sorrow, and began again with a faint smile coming to his lips this time: "ya see, he had wonderful eyes—M-Mangekyō—Eternal Mangekyō he called 'im. I never understood, but he said that they was memories af his brother. Special eyes!"

It was no use waiting for a cosmic anchor to fall and drag him down to the depths of worries. This was not what he was expecting when he took this journey, in an attempt to lead his wayward child away from truth. This was not how it was supposed to be. And he whispered before he could control his tongue—such was his shock that even _he_ lost the iron-will command over his senses: "Uchiha Madara . . . "

"Aye, Madara—that was the lad's name!" Takashi yelled, and his voice became cheerful, all sadness gone from his face and tone, "after he passed away, we kept the lad's eyes safe in the pure water frem the mountain. It's blessed, ya see. Kept 'em in this shrine. He had many scrolls with 'im, too. Can't say I understood even one of 'em. I couldn't even read 'em—they was just lines fer me.

"He kept takin' 'bout gatherin' lost light fer the fadin' light of his eyes—rise ta a new light with his bloodline's power—somethin' like that. Me never understood a word af it. Ya see, he gav' his eyes ta me as a partin' gift, but I wouldn't hav' none af it. The lad was gone. The eyes were as good as nothin' fer me."

A bird's song swelled in Itachi's direction and broke doubts' shells in his mind; and from the slimy egg-shells came little hatchlings—ready to strike, ready to consume, ready to lay waste. He did not understand a word of it. Fading Light? Gathering light? Rising light? What manner of obscure language was this? In a sudden rush of memories, rising like restless spectres from forgotten graves, he thought of all the years he had spent under his father's tutelage: he was never taught anything of the sort. Had Madara gone mad whilst being affected by the mind-consuming affliction? Had his father been less truthful to him? He had to know more—he had to!

And so, calming the swarm of doubts going across his mind, he spoke, dying to know more of the man he never knew—dying to know more of the man in Uchiha folktales: "where are the eyes and scrolls now? Perhaps I will be able to read them." He kept his face smooth as marble, not a line appeared to disturb the contours of his fine features.

"Ah, lad," Takashi spoke and stopped for just a moment to breathe in the fresh, invigorating air, "I gave 'em all away. Me wanted ta meet yor Clan, but it was feared in war. We was afraid. And we don't let any Hōzuki back in who leaves frem 'ere. Rules are rules."

"Gave them away? To whom?" Itachi asked and felt such curiosity over-power his mind. He was like a child now, curious and anxious and playful—this was . . . almost like an adventure, a new playtime!

"Hōzuki Sosuke," he spoke and scratched his chin, upon which few prickly hairs still grew, "said he came frem Mist. We don't trust 'em."

"Suigetsu's father?" Itachi asked and cast a curious eye over Suigetsu's bone-white face. His hands were shaking, and the trickster's smile he always wore on his lips was not there.

"Aye aye! This lad be Sosuke's son?" Takashi asked and emitted a bubble of laughter, afterwards. "The _Mountain Kami's_ blessed us today! How's yor pa, lad? He said that he'd spoken ta an Uchiha, and then he took off. I haven't seen 'im in years!" Takashi strained his neck as though he was trying to take a good look at Suigetsu, his eyes widening in anticipation.

"H-He—" Suigetsu stopped and gulped down the stone in his throat, "—me pa's dead . . . "

Takashi's smile disappeared slowly, and an expression of shock overtook his countenance. "Kami—may Sage hav' mercy on 'im. He was a good man." And he was shaking his head again whilst his face appeared sorrowful.

"Why did he come here? Did he ever say why?" Itachi asked and pulled the weight of his gaze from over Suigetsu's senses. It was a warning. He was asked to stay quiet and observe. Poor Hōzuki child—he did not know how cruel winter could be to lost children!

"He came 'ere searching fer us. His village folk wanted the water, but it loses its power when it's taken away frem the mountain. Fools! Said he didn't trust 'em and that evil changelin', Yagura!" he said and created the widest smile his elastic mouth could manage. "The water was so powerful in the past. Hōzukis—we was the first clan who came 'ere, and we was the first to join with the water. We're the children of this mountain. The chakra ain't the same, lads. The mountain's gone ta sleep. The Kami sleeps. He might wake up som' day, but we don't know fer sure. Why, in the past, it could bring _dead_ ta life! Blessed—we're blessed, lads!" And then he let out another short bark of laughter that travelled from one end of the cave to the other, booming.

"I see that Mist did not destroy your village out of the fear that the sleeping Kami might grow . . . distant still," Itachi spoke, and his pink-smile was sublime on his white-face, bewitching.

"Aye, lad," Takashi sighed out and relaxed his posture, "evil business between villages. Evil business. Evil men." And his eyebrows went so far up that they vanished in the midst of deep lines in his brow. "They wanted ta control this power to battle the famous Uchiha chakra that comes frem the lands. It never got 'em anywhere."

"Content with just the water in the Water Sprout Village? Poor men of Mist," Itachi spoke, and his mouth's colour deepened richly—ah, the threatening red spreading in winter's unmoving bosom.

"Yor a clever lad. What's yor name?" Takashi asked and placed the crooked cane in his lap.

"Fuyuhito," Itachi spoke, and the word came out in a breathy sort of sound from his coloured lips, and rose up, "if it is not too much trouble, I would like to see Madara's grave."

"Ya can take the path up frem 'ere," Takashi spoke, got to his feet, and leant on the walking-stick to keep his balance. "I'll send food there fer ya."

"Thank you for your generosity. I will see you at dusk," he spoke and left the shrine. Suigetsu, still reluctant to go after Itachi to the Uchiha ancestor's grave, got up, bowed, and left, too. He had little choice in the matter, but he was much too curious to stop now!

When they left the shrine, sun cast a soft gaze upon this land. Autumn had failed to complete its reaping here. Slow-waving boughs, laden with berries, flanked their path and cooled their breasts. They trod the stone-pathway, broken by rain and neglect. A blanket of leaves covered the pathway that must have been carved out with care in this land. It was linked to various patches of fruit-bearing tree plantations that, though growing wildly, still showed the discipline of human hands.

At last, the pathway brought them to the heart of a luscious grove of trees, many of which fed ravenously on the stream's water and produced berries as rich as the shade of a harlot's lips. A well-maintained wooden house, constructed in traditional Uchiha architecture-style, stood strong beneath the far-reaching branches of a large tree: its shade was impenetrable, its limbs numerous that held upon the structure in a shadow-grip.

Oddly, he could not see a grave anywhere; but before he could make up his mind to mount a steep flight of stone-stairs, cut into the stone made brittle by water, a boy came running from the forest; and his hands cradled a strange bag made of cotton, knotted at the top.

With a small voice, he told them that he brought food, and that Takashi had gone to attend to a sickly woman that lived a few miles away from here. It would take him a while to return. He requested them to stay at this house for the night. After that, he arranged food for them on the small table inside the house and ran away.

Itachi wanted to ask Takashi more questions, but it was no use staying here for the night. So he sat down and ate the fragrant food that was well-made and enjoyed the time of respite this place provided. Suigetsu had not spoken a word, and Serizawa, as obedient as ever, never spoke out of turn. Jūgo, the mysterious man from caves, ate and walked away into the forest without speaking a word. This place delighted him—Itachi could tell. All for the better.

And when signs of dusk changed the sky and night sang with siren's calls through the forest, its natural instruments to make music, he climbed the stairs and came upon a lonely mound of a lonely man in a lonely earth. There stood a tree over the bump in the earth, its shadow going across the gravestone ever so slowly. It read: _Izuna, we lived together and died alone—let's be born and live again, together_.

Itachi's shadow fell upon the grave, thick and black. It invaded the territory of the tree. In his core spread a silence that cooled off his worries. He did not know what to say to this dead man. He never had any sentiments to spare for the dead. There was another grave at the foot of another tree. It, too, was another bump in the earth. He did not bother to read what was written on the gravestone, but Suigetsu's wailing informed him that he was a Hōzuki.

"Do you know this man?" he asked Suigetsu and glimpsed at Serizawa who appeared to have been affected by sentimentality in this graveyard.

"No—" Suigetsu coughed out and wiped his nose on his sleeve: a bit of mucus was left dangling from his right nostril.

"All these tears for a man you do not even know? I admire your spirit," Itachi remarked, his tone a little mischievous, a little detached.

"'e could be me long lost Hōzuki brother—First cousin-fiftieth-removed. Ya never know. They bred like fuckin' rabbits in those days, mate! Rabbits!" he spoke, alternating between hysterics and whimpering, his eyes a little crazed, a little red.

"A lot of removals," Itachi spoke, and from his mouth came a visible warm breath; it was getting cold, and sun was going down, fast. He could no longer see half of it, hidden as it was behind the pointed peaks below the horizon.

Then Suigetsu came running, his cloak's ends bunched up in his hands. "What doya see—in the grave?" he asked, suddenly, urging Itachi to take a glimpse at the secret world of the dead through a different vision. If only it was ever that easy . . .

"Bones—and some missing bones," Itachi spoke, his eyes burning in Sharingan's fires, and behind his back, he heard an audible sniffle from Serizawa.

"Yor sense of humour is rotten, mate!" Suigetsu remarked and his face fell and he began weeping again with new vehemence.

"Why do you not rest here? Take a long respite from the messy business of your father's demise. It is poetic—your vengeance that involves a wayward child you have got hold of," Itachi spoke and turned to face Suigetsu. Behind Itachi's back, black made the skin and mouth of sky; and they trembled, writhed with surges of lust, spilt red everywhere in frenzy.

"Yor not takin' me back, are ya?" Suigetsu smiled, and the dimple in his smile deepened and his smile spread wider.

"Oh, Suigetsu," Itachi spoke, his voice infused with coming winter's emotion that chilled the Hōzuki in his core, "you poor, lost boy from Rain. Your father's death . . . tragic business, yet you drag my child along to play with you in a manner I do not want."

Suigetsu did not speak, tongue stuck good in his jaw. He could not even see Itachi's face, only his eyes, and it had become a cliché now—an endless source of his shame.

"Stay, live, enjoy," Itachi continued in a voice smoother than this land's songs, "why do you burden these people with the threat of village business? Mangetsu—a dead man can only write so many missives before his rotten hand grows weary. Let this dead man rest. Let this end. Let this go."

And still Suigetsu did not speak as he looked at the lights flickering to life amid the trees. It was as if blinking eyes had opened up, upon a faceless face hiding in the night, to look at him and his shame and express glee with a laughing mouth, mouth-less.

"Stay—in this village," Itachi paused and leant his head down a bit as though to pour the wraith of Sharingan straight into Suigetsu's eyes, "for that is what you will do. You will not whisper of this to anyone. You will not come to Konoha, not if I do not summon you. Consider your little adventure in Konoha finished—now, on this night. Lovely—it is _so_ lovely here."

Then he took one step back and turned his face and body towards the red that came from the sky, as if at his calling; and when the colour touched and penetrated deeply his lips and bosom, they, too, took on the shade and sang with an illusion of spring's songs. Winter's tricks to lure in lost and mischievous children.

Suigetsu made no movement to stop Itachi as he descended the stairs and disappeared from view in the far shadow of the grove; so he turned around, brushed dust off his cloak, sat down by the grave of the lonely Uchiha in the earth, sang his mother's song to him—his eyes were truthful this time.

In the darkening shade beneath the trees, Itachi kept walking and spoke: "send a letter to the councilman in the capital. Ask him to arrange a meeting—a private meeting. I need to get this done before I return to Konoha."

Serizawa, a little confused, did not share his concerns with his Lord and asked: "with whom, Itachi-Sama?"

"The Daimyō," Itachi said, and his voice sounded as clear as sinister songs to Serizawa's ears; but he did not question his Lord and kept following him in silence through the forest . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : A-Spot, P-Spot, O-Spot, and G-Spot, along with a few other spots, do exist.


	71. The Wicked Child

**Chapter Seventy-One** : The Wicked Child

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Through the moon-tipped grass, serpents yawning, hither they came, nurtured by night's descent. Winter's ghost roughed his cheeks—Spring's lament; and lamented she had, courted and murdered upon white. And silent boughs froze in place, almost in fear, with settled dew stone-cold solid. In the glinting of pearls, moon cooed and frustrated night. Still so wanton and sweet—like love!

Was it coming at last, Winter's song—all sewn up unto the sweetness of his throat? Lying deep, flesh, bone, and blood, heated to a rapturous tune that had manifested in the now-rotten, but once-winter, womb of his widowed mother: Winter fire—spirit. Touched by youth's musk, he had grown—all beautiful and sublime. Still not like the lily of the Autumn; but who would not change a moth for a lily? Silly woman! She had wept and bled in love for him, from eyes wanting and juncture burdened and wet; and through lids apart, she saw his face: such love in the face of Lord—such lament in the eyes of the little Devil! _Oh, child, wicked wicked child; you grow distant; you grow wild_!

How things lay forgotten, like people, in the deep of the earth. How things lay forgotten in the deep of his mind. Such a wondrous Winter—such a wicked man! Germinating outside the ripe refuge for so long—in the hall, his presence was mild. Cheeks the whitest shade of white; lips touched by the airs of spring, but only just: just a playful kiss by a giddy maiden before she ran away, white sleeves streaming like paper-scrolls in wind. The shade was still not mature, not deep, not like love!

On the ceiling, in the grey of shadow's presence, eight fingers adorned with innumerable prickly hairs crafted threads so delicate; and like memories, they invited death upon their structures—stuck unto the gossamer it had made, moths died a pitiful death; but tonight was a different night, and death came on purple wings singing. Its wings, sinister instruments, beat and beat like his heart, unrelenting.

The spider with legs hairy lunged and bit the outer-skin bloated with poison, in uncontrolled hunger. Winter did not bring the juicy ones to his phantasmal abode, not this time. Just one bite and it wilted and died in the trick of threads, a home and a grave; and from the faintest glimmers of cobwebs, a delicate colour spread to him and spilt upon one side of his face, which bore all details of this sudden demise. So white, like a scroll, his face was created to endure shadow's colours.

As if he felt the last twitches of a mother's fingers on his cheek, he gazed for a moment at the web that hung between the hall and the moon still dim in infancy; and this time, his whole face exhibited a play of shadows—for children's eyes: the spider floated away into the forest, an empty husk; and freed of the less-than-mighty strings, so fragile as though the spider had turned moon's songs into threads with love burning in its fingers, it flew to him in hunger: his chakra was the most delicious thing it would ever feast upon, over-flowing with its love, seduction!

On his lips it found its refuge and laid its tiny feet there with a resolve firm and kissed the breaths that came from him, breaths flowing with life; and in this month of autumn, this life was especially ripe, glutted with energy he would never be able to put forth in any other month!

"The young commander is distracted by moths," spoke a voice that boomed loud and distinct in the hall that was empty.

Almost surprised, he turned his head sharply, and at this rude dismissal, the moth flew away with a broken heart; and it pulled the shadow with it, but not before it took a piece of his love, too.

He immediately prostrated before the Daimyō, and then he sat up straight. "Forgive me, I did not hear you come," he spoke, and though his voice was soft as wings, its resonance was felt for several moments.

The Daimyō smiled, but his smile was a little unperceivable without his clan's hard focus and red scrutiny. It was dark, but the fire from the tall bronze candle stand set alight the yellow silk in the lord's vestments; it seemed as though the tailor had threaded Chrysanthemums into his beautiful robes, kikus sunning. He noticed that the lord had chosen not to wear his eboshi—traditions were not always followed—and that revealed the shaven front of the head, anointed generously with oil that it shone with . . . a peculiar effect in the warmth of light.

This man was Shiba Yoshimune of the Shiba clan, and he was the Daimyō of this land. He sat on the raised platform, looking down upon the boy whom he had seen grow through the seasons that assaulted Konoha each year, but the Spring; winters were especially harsh to the lands that favoured the love of Spring and warmth of Summer, in which flowers bloomed fragrant and fruits succulent; and he carried a beautiful sword and a folding fan at his waist, symbols of stature. Had the lord sent the page away? He did not even notice, so love-struck by his creature-companion in soul, who had flown away and taken his wings. So the journey back home would be flightless?

He kept quiet, listening, smelling, seeing the creations of Nature in this hour of night. White flashes broke over the empty shores of this room in waves. Another storm was coming—a mighty one—and it made a feeling of such restlessness invade the peace of his heart, utterly.

"I smell the earth," Yoshimune spoke and took in a breath. "The storms have been unkind, lately." Then he was quiet, his eyes surveying the shadow-lattice's stamps upon the artificial-white of the wooden-floor.

Several moments passed by in this unneeded silence from men and noise from unnatural mouths outside, and he was forced to cast his gaze upon the floor, almost helpless to compel this man to speak!

"What brings the young Uchiha heir here when the night is cold and harsh?" he asked, at last, and his smile was like a groove in his hard face the delightful interplay of dim light and light dark crafted.

Itachi pulled up his gaze to look upon the man who would be an anchor for him, should he ever chose to; and Nature's scents wafted in, settled over the room, enriched his senses. He breathed in once, just once, and his mind was ready to work at this . . . problem, again!

"I seek your permission to speak with honesty," Itachi spoke and steeled his neck more than he steeled his spine.

The Daimyō, an unrepentant ruler, observed his face with a countenance that foretold his skepticism; however, much to Itachi's delight, Yoshimune's curiosity overwhelmed his reservations too soon to matter; and he had been loyal to him, murdering his foes in their beds at his command—he deserved this much, or at least, he hoped he did . . .

"Honesty?" Yoshimune repeated, his tone brimming with a curious change, his smiling lips smiling deeper. Oh, he had become much too curious, and this change made Itachi almost happy, _almost_.

Itachi did not speak; no, he waited, for he could not start the conversation without this lord's permission. He saw a twinkle in Yoshimune's eyes; it was like the last blinking light of a lost firefly before morn; then it vanished, and he gave a slight nod of his head like some thought had passed in his mind.

Itachi gave a low bow of acknowledgment and sat so straight and settled his whitest hands upon his thighs, his eyes iron, his face flower. And that disposition, a delicious blent, made the lord's heart . . . soft to him and his tongue. The youth's wickedness was tongue-less; his charm, wordless. And he was charmed already as though he had bedded the heir in the lush chambers of his free-will. Such was his want. Oh, but the scandal would ruin him! His fantasy was _surely_ elaborate!

"I have come here to speak of the Hokage," Itachi spoke, his voice harder than iron, softer than flower, "she has made questionable decisions that push Konoha towards peril with each passing day."

Yoshimune did not speak, his heart roused by the man in him, his gaze enflamed by the man before him. The storm had found a place in his spirit, a restless storm, and it would not leave here without his ruination; and he was so innocent, so lovely, so boy-like that the lord's heart could not bear to turn him away—even when his mind's doubts sought to puncture the unmissable sentiment with repeated interruptions.

"She has taken . . . decisions—rash decisions that have put the village in danger," Itachi paused, his words vibrating and haunting about the lord, like faeries cold and deadly, "she had the lady of the Okami clan assassinated despite my reservations.

"As a consequence of this murder, bandit clans have gathered in great numbers around the village. Danzō's up to no good, and she does nothing to prevent this. I fear that he may have been directing the young girl's decisions with her consent to spark a war against Cloud—without your knowledge."

Yoshimune emitted a pleasant laugh that went back and forth across the hall like a flexible object. Its tinkling sound made an unpleasant sensation well up in Itachi's throat, but it was not potent enough to manifest upon his face, which stayed the same just as Winter stayed the same.

"Danzō has many words to spare for you and your mischievous little brother. Sasuke, was it?" Yoshimune spoke, and though Itachi had expected this, the sound of his voice was still louder than the foreign sounds in the gurgling skies for his ears, "Tatsuoki has made many unpleasant claims—murders of Fū and Torune. Unpleasant business, young heir."

"Fū's unfortunate murder remains a mystery, though I fear his frequent Night Flower Village visitations may have been the cause. No evidence against Sasuke was found. I do not know why he keeps insisting upon this without a reason, without a cause," Itachi spoke and watched as the Daimyō bent forward just a little to lend his ears to his tricky tongue. The lack of light made prominent the deep furrows in his brow. Nature was never kind to the ones without youth, and waxing candles made Nature appear even less kind. He appeared to be a frail man in a kingly garb—he was no ruler. This bearing was a fool's trick!

"And Torune?" he asked, pulling out the fan tucked in his belt, opening it with an easy flick of his wrist. "Two murders, young heir. It is hardly fair to accuse Danzō so soon. Perhaps your brother is disobedient, after all." And when he smiled this time, beneath the layer of soft grey, his smile was . . . cruel, framed in a face mapped by wayward lines—now animated by his facial muscles in unnatural ways that Itachi did not like nor enjoy.

Lights crashed into the room and splattered across the floor in a colour that was singular and sharp and bright; and the heir's jealous heart was loath to grant this lord the satisfaction of murdering his child, being the master of his child's soul— _his_ child, his _only_ child. He ought to be the one to decide his child's fate; and what was this lord to his heart? Yet another man to be forgotten and kept in the graveyard of memories.

"If he is found guilty, I will put him to death myself—right here—in front of you, my lord," he spoke with such sincerity that the lord's heart was moved, and then it was moved to despair and frustration by the smile on the heir's face, a smile that disturbed the pristine nature of a flower as it stood shuddering in wind. It was like a single out-of-order petal that made the flower lovelier still.

"I appreciate your loyalty. I wish more men shared it with _you_ ," Yoshimune spoke in a voice as though he was in love, a softness that echoed a time of his youth and all its much-coveted frivolities—now lost to this constant fever that wrestled and lay defeated in an old man's body. "Terrible business, of course. Your accusations paint Tsunade in a foul light. Do you possess any evidence?"

And a parasite borne of treachery stitched itself to his spirit, and when the process was complete, a heresy committed by the once-divine hands, he could not help but feel a single shudder rock his core with divine tremors that were . . . delightful. His mother's womb had spoilt his spirit, a milk left out in the open for too long—its sanctuary was myth. And his soul had come alight, dancing like an apparatus undone and re-created by the hands of Devil. This was easy—this was divine—this was sweet.

"No, I do not," Itachi spoke, "but I intend to look into the matter. I humbly request your discretion. Your life may be in danger."

"Danger? The young heir makes frightening claims," Yoshimune spoke with a polite laughter that tinkled like bells in his throat, though the vibrating sound had little effect on the room's atmosphere.

"These are fears . . . for now. I will not rest till I am not satisfied that my suspicions are _just_ suspicions," he spoke and assuaged the red devils in his eyes, albeit they burnt _just_ beneath the layers that presented an easy breach for their beguiling influence.

"A matter of silence . . . " Yoshimune whispered, his eyes looking up, his heart enjoying the thrill of danger—in this age that was all it took to set it going at a pace he liked.

"You may leave," Yoshimune spoke and stood up and so did Itachi, "I will call upon you if need be, but you ought to be sincere about that Torune business. If you come through, we shall see . . . " Then he observed the heir bow and his heart took a single leap in anger and he left the heir and his growing-shadow all alone: his moth had come back to visit again!

Itachi walked towards the main-door, through the wings of this young moon's light, spreading. They produced a sacred effect when they struck hanging-screens mounted on walls just below the roof, with motifs of Kirin dancing and snow dotting the still-lush gardens and fragrant flowers that were nourished by Spring past its prime—its cradle was rich and divine in the absoluteness of dried-up paint. Strange, what one could create in paintings.

"You play a game of hide and seek," spoke a rich voice from behind, and Itachi was forced to stop immediately. He turned around, slowly, and from the devious shadow's figure that had hidden from his human-eyes, appeared a man brushed by dove-wings of night. Plumes brushed across his luxuriant garments, red Kikus burning like mighty fires _right_ upon his heart.

Tokugawa Ieyasu, a man Itachi was not expecting to see in the frozen bowls of this night. Ieyasu moved towards him, his gait so smooth as though he was floating on a lake's sighing water. He stopped just two steps short of him, his face white and unreadable, his eyes hard and unbearable. Smooth black hair framed his high cheeks, made to appear much too white by this child-like moon, that had been hardened much by his nature.

Three and nine years of age, Ieyasu was still young, appointed as the head of his clan after much bloodshed. In his face calm and storm blent sharply. He possessed a disarming countenance that was decorated by a delicate pair of eyes, his mother's parting gift, starred with a marked glint of forbearance and chaos—a devious duality—and thick lashes that afforded them the skill of mystery; his features, smooth, pointed, and sharp, habitually serene till visited upon by an arrogant mark of cleverness Itachi had no wish to witness now.

Ieyasu spoke not a word, and Itachi, out of habit, bent his head to bow. "My lord," Itachi whispered and stood straight and looked the man before him in the eyes that were crafted from the stone-heart of the deepest cold winter could muster.

He said nothing in return and began walking to the garden from where moon's remnants emerged like faeries to crucify themselves upon walls, without a single sign of martyrdom; and though Itachi had no desire to accompany him, he did for he was obedient ever since he opened his heart to this country's greatest _Will_! His steps made faint sounds, but Ieyasu was quiet like the shadow whose refuge he took earlier to surprise him.

Outside, moon hanged high above them in slumbering delight, quiet and pristine in this cold, cold night. By the door, dim-light bearing lanterns hung, their lights shyer than the moon's. It was bolder tonight, so innocent and young, shining upon lilies smiling by the stream that went along cooing in sleep, creating black strokes of trees on stocky walls.

Ieyasu gazed up at the moon, and then he looked down and gazed at him, a question just beginning to blossom in his eyes; and Itachi felt that he should speak. "I came by to—"

"Oh, hush, you—" Ieyasu cut across him, his voice like steel, frigid and deep, "—you little snake. Always the opportunist. You thought you could come here and make a mess of things in my absence?" His eyes wandered slightly to the right and returned back to Itachi, with a cold fire in their depths.

"You—leave!" he commanded without looking at the man whom he had no desire to name, and when Serizawa did not leave, a smile almost invaded the expressionlessness upon his countenance. "He wishes to be disobedient like his master!"

"Serizawa," Itachi spoke, turning his head just a little to show him a shadow of his disapproving eye—his second-sight had not risen. Serizawa, a shadow, did not protest. He bowed and left and all shadows remained behind, but his.

Coils of mist lingered about them and upon the garden clothed in bright verdure, ghostly winter mirages; and sparkling droplets of rain from the storm whose breeze whispered the farewells fell upon their garments and exposed skin. It was cold—so, so cold.

"Your brother writes such lovely missives to me, and I grant his wishes for I enjoy his company. I have granted one such wish that exists in my pocket. He is endearing, unlike you—takes after his father, does he not?" Ieyasu spoke, his features cast in the dimmest shadow Itachi's body threw upon him. Ieyasu was just as tall as he was. Perhaps slightly taller! "Where is Meru? I sent you missives to bring him to me, but you said nothing. When did you turn so arrogant?"

"He is safe," Itachi spoke and drew in a breath that was soft and without sound. It did not even disturb the air about them—the air winter made heavy.

"Oh? Am I to hang upon your every word without seeing a thing—take a leap of faith? Is that why you are here—to charm the senile old fool that pines for you and speak to him of the _terrible_ things I have made you do?" he spoke and a ghost of mischievous disdain trembled in his smile—Itachi kept looking, his face and lips in a state of calm. "You are so bold the way you gaze upon me. Perhaps I should pluck out your pretty eyes. Then what would become of the little boy like you? Nothing good."

Itachi clasped his hands behind his back, lowered his eyes, and settled them upon the breast of the man in front. He did not know what oceans raged inside the violent cradle of Ieyasu's heart—Itachi's eyes were not swords tonight, swords not sharp enough to cleave the turbulent surface of swelling waves. The man nurtured bifurcated impulses that festered unchecked in his spirit-womb; volatile and dangerous, he was not a foe Itachi wished to battle.

"I want Meru in my care before this moon turns full. I do not care where you are hiding him. Bring him to me," he spoke, his breaths white, falling across Itachi's face adorned with moon-struck droplets travelling down his contours, with no sense of direction.

"This thing you ask of me—it is not easy," Itachi spoke, and this time, he chose to meet Ieyasu's eyes with a fire that matched the birthright from his father, without the colour's intense presence, "the Hokage has created troubles. Danzō's men keep watch on the village in great numbers. They _will_ get a whiff of this. It is only a matter of time."

"Ah, licking the Kages' sandals all day long has made a frightened whelp out of you," he spoke, and shadows of clouds obscured the moon glowing on his face, "I did not whisper in this old fool's ears of your glory for nothing.

"Why are you not forthcoming, Itachi? You were such an obedient boy before you took the great seat and became important—obedient in your office, obedient in my bed. Now, you are just an obscenely pretty, conniving wench."

Flashes leapt from an angry belly and a hard-placed light appeared over Itachi's face with ineffable sweetness. His visible face had gone colder, whiter, harder. He did not speak: he had no word dancing on the tip of his tongue. This man had come with claws sharp to cut off his wings.

In the divine shower of weightless rain from sky's brink, Ieyasu was visual noise, and he did not know how to muffle its loud timbre for his eyes' respite. There was a steady impulse to meet _this_ force with one of his own making, but he did not have it in him to conjure the imagery recorded by the Sharingan without his approval: the eyes had a mind of their own, and their machination was like a walk into the den of somnambulists that stood delirious amidst the swirling opioid fumes—it was all dream and dream-like in the reds and depths of his clan's eyes.

One and seven years of age, he was just as lovely in the dawn of youth's season; he was just as obedient in the dawn of his lord's reason. An obsession blossomed into a full flower in the pits of his heart; and every word, every gesture was a divine work of art. They spoke, he acted; they asked, he reacted. A toy in their hands—a seed in these lands. He was blest—blest! When the land yearned, his spirit turned, turned, turned!

The _Will_ turned him loose upon her foes, and he obeyed with head bent, sword in hand and heart, fire in breath and breast. He was a cruel soldier with the most cruel eyes; this was not the gift his father had granted him through the benign act of creation. His mother wept in love, but her tears never touched and thawed his distant heart: winter's yearning sowed a Devil in her womb. And when Ieyasu asked of him to satisfy a personal yearning, he did not deny him—he could not—for he was his lord, and his will was this land's will. Ieyasu touched him in tender and perverse ways, kissed his throat and flesh the way a woman would, acts he did not enjoy; but he stayed silent and obedient till Ieyasu grew bored of him one night before he had lived through one and eight winters; he never called upon him again.

But this seed had grown and matured whilst eating Winter's winds and waters. His heart was harder and colder; his spirit, less prone to heed the sensations that made it soft. Years sowed a corse of tenderness in his heart, and none existed to rouse it from eternity . . . but his child that planted a kiss of life upon the lips and made tremble the dead apparatus for holy pleasures that danced serene and pure in his eyes. Ah, such fleeting flashes of fancy—they seldom stayed.

"An obsession with the _Will_ —a love for the land—vices I adored. Why do you withhold such vices from me now?" Ieyasu spoke again, his voice dripping with past's yearning, taking advantage of his subordinate's silence, "shall I take you to bed again? You do not seem to have any other use." And he tapped the fan that he held in his hand against Itachi's cheek, lightly, his expression placid, his smile sweet.

"Look at you. Still so pretty—almost like a woman—like a well-paid harlot," he sighed out in soft mockery, looking at Itachi up and down, assessing him with a sluggish gaze, "you bring that man to me. I do not know why you are so forgetful of my generosity to grant you this power in Konoha. Without me, you are nothing—you would be nothing.

"Do not play games with me, or I shall make a woman out of you, and then you can moan like a whore in my chambers—something I would enjoy rather than seeing this stone-cold face you wear and lending ears to the words of this lying tongue of yours that brings me no joy."

Ieyasu smiled and his smile was sincere; he made to walk, but suddenly, as if gripped by the tenderness of moon's waters flowing down Itachi's countenance, he stopped and added: "Either you accept your position or I decide your fate and put another dog in charge of your clan—some eager man from your council.

"You can displease me and gain my favour only so many times till I tire of you, and you are in a habit of boring me. Mind your manners."

And then he left Itachi alone to gather bits and pieces of his shadow. He watched as Ieyasu's shadow moved across the paper-screen windows, invading sceneries one by one; then his gaze fell upon Hanakoto's face illuminated by the lantern that hung by the latticed window. She possessed such unimaginable beauty that its radiance dimmed the moon's light.

She wore a red kimono and sat beside a small black-lacquered table that bore tea cups and a lustrous old urn; and she smiled at him with smiling eyes, passion radiating from her mouth and cheeks. Ieyasu sat down beside her, and his demeanour changed: he appeared playful in her company. Itachi could imagine—she had that effect on men.

Itachi looked away, enamoured by lights swirling amidst shadows this maturing night generated. Then, as silently as he had come, he left the place the same way—his journey home would be without wings . . .

"My lord, you are harsh with him," Hanakoto spoke, moving her fan back and forth, "be gentle."

"He does not deserve gentleness," Ieyasu spoke and a recovering smile came across his lips in visible traces. "Enough of him! What brings you here?"

She moved her hand lightly in a circular motion, twice, trying to get a whiff of a fragrance that emanated from him. "Is that sake I smell in your breath? I hope you still have the appetite for enjoying tea with me," she spoke, placed her fan on the table that had lost half its lustre, and poured out tea into two tea-cups.

"I am a little intoxicated, yes," he confessed, his smile full and radiant now, "though my constitution is not delicate enough to sour my memories of you."

She let out the lightest laugh, rose-colour appearing darker on her loveliest face. "I flatter men without payment—today, you flatter me without payment, my lord," she spoke, holding her smile, and placed the cup before him. "I came here to discuss the Yoshiwara business. Men from the neighbouring bathhouses have become nosy. I want them gone. If you grant me the permission and means to expand the place, it will bring me the greatest joy and relief.

"This matter has stolen my nights. It gives me such worry. I make less than I ought to. The Daimyō here is unfair to me."

"That is unfortunate, but do not worry—worry would age you," Ieyasu spoke and took a quick sip of the tea that was still warm, "I would not want that. Your face is more beautiful than the moon and flowers."

Hanakoto lowered her eyes and head and jewels that adorned the pins in her hair tinkled like charms in wind. Her lips sweeter than the sweetest sake; her face lovelier than the loveliest flower—she was Autumn's apparition, a beautiful thing, that haunted the deep of Winter's dreams, a red tenant of its passions.

"I can enforce more stringent measures and grant you funds for expansions. Of course that would require time and persuasion," he said and placed the empty cup back on the table, "in the meantime, why do you not think over my request?"

"Why, I am too old to be your concubine, my lord!" she spoke, expressing surprise, her eyebrows floating up. "Perhaps a blooming Tayū might delight you. A new Takao has completed her training. She would be obedient in your company. She writes such lovely songs, too. You would enjoy them!"

"Has Kami left a mark of age on you that I have not seen? Perhaps it is hidden underneath the delicate layers of your kimono?" he asked, his eyes twinkling in the lantern's light that touched the red in her kimono and made her appear like an enticing flower on the misty shores of Sanzu river; the dead would surely be tempted. "You should have tied your obi at the front. My, you are playful.

"Come here and sit by my side with your back to me. I want to see you— _all_ of you in this light," Ieyasu spoke, his words crafted by his passions.

Hanakoto did not protest. She rose to her feet, a delicate layer clutched in her hand, walked to him, sat down with obedience in her movements. She felt his hands on the knot, and he undid it with expert hands. Her skin was smooth when the layers fell away; her hair, delicate paint-brush.

"You are so lovely—imagine that I have done what you asked. Sing for me," Ieyasu whispered and touched the visible sinews in her back, and warm breaths issued forth from her lips. He kissed the vein in her neck—it was unusually bright green underneath her milk-white skin, as if awaiting a different liquid to give it another hue. And the scent of Higanbana blew from the expanse of her breathing pores, upon which stood signs of her flesh's heat.

He was more gentle with her than her love was when he was in a state of waking; he was less gentle with her than her love was when he was in a state of dreaming. Poisons made a lover of him; but she wanted him to love her whilst he spoke to her with a lucid mind and eyes observing in cold determination. Ah, his obedient and disobedient states broke her heart—always.

And she closed her eyes, thinking of him; and what were dreams of women to the hearts of men? Lies they crafted and believed to be true!

# # # # # # #

And transfixed she stood upon the threshold as the shades fled, afraid of the murder of spring-bride as it bled in another cheek, not knowing what to see . . . in the sky now. It was dark, and a cold hurtled towards her, her loose white kimono billowing, and blew loud against her breast. Her heart rung like temple bells, unafraid and fearful just the same: a moth had come to visit and it sat silent and sinister on the lantern that hung by the door.

She chose to ignore it and looked at the vastness that expanded in front of her lonely house. In her sight, everything appeared to come from the grey and black of night. The moors, as wind hissed clean through, swayed in waves, bowing in winds. Mist, scattering like cloven silk, formed again and again, desperate to gain shape; but it was all for naught; tonight, storm's heart was set on coming, and it was coming harder and faster and fiercer from the sky. Her heart was too timid to match its passion. She lost before its mechanisms even began . . .

Having grown tired of waiting, she sat down, a white camellia in her hand; and she thought of her temple duties. If he did not come tonight, she would go to the temple and pray and prostrate before Kami to make him come to her—see her, cherish her, love her. Oh, her heart, not eased of the thoughts, sang amidst the ferocious songs of Autumn's storms. Her tongue moved, too, and her tender breaths morphed into songs, and she was singing! Singing in this night! Singing in love!

Wind muffled her songs and ended her voice; but she squeezed shut her eyes against the wailing wind and pressed the camellia to her breast that trembled in prayer; and she pressed it harder and broke the stem upon which the flower stood robust; oh, how she had ruined the flower, herself, in his love!

And when she opened her eyes with hope in full bloom inside her heart, she saw a man approaching her home from the darkness of the forest in unrest under the storm. She felt the moth's eyes on her back, watching; but she ignored it still, all fears of death in Winter forgotten. She sprang to her feet and her hand dropped the flower. Then she grabbed the lantern that sat beside her and moved her slow thighs; and then her slow thighs got quick as she ran bare-footed and disappeared into the dark-green of wilderness, her kimono streaming, flowing, blowing—like her wet and loose hair. So thoughtless that she did not even think of her other vision!

In her mind, her heart, he stood in autumn's bloom, waiting for her and her heart; and she would love him in cold spring and warm autumn, her heart at his mercy—always. White light split-open, like a maiden's musk-coated thighs, and swayed before her, unable to keep up with her muddy feet; and as she ran, night's colours merged and everything became one in her vision, a blur made from a singular colour! Her heart beat faster, louder, harder as he drew near; and she, nearer, faster than he; he walked; she ran—it was always meant to be this way . . .

And at last, she came to a halt, her smile coming and going away so soon; light glowed over his face and brow and eyes and prominent freckles about his cheeks: it was Neji. She looked at him and then she looked down, blushing in embarrassment at the sight of her mud-clogged toes, her breast fast-moving and sweat-riddled; and as she stood still, colours separated and everything reemerged as a separate entity, which possessed its own hues, in her eyes.

"Hinata, it's cold outside," Neji said, always smiling. "Let's go inside. I've got good news for you." But her heart did not rise and feel joy at his words . . . its speed had fallen, like her passion.

The walk back home was quiet, the leaf-trail quieter and unwelcoming without the warmth of his presence. A storm died in her breast, and she did not know when it would rise again without his touch! She was absolutely crestfallen, uncaring of the storm outside that shook this land.

Quietly, Hinata washed her feet; quietly, she made tea for them both; quietly, she sat by the fireplace that she kept warm with fresh coals (every night). The house was a grave tonight, like always, and its cold moths feasted upon her spirits till she would grow gloomy and sad and angry. Why did he not come?

"The clan's transfer papers are coming from the capital," Neji said, but she did not answer, only nodded. "Sasuke-Sama said that it'll soon be over. I just hope it'll be over for the better." And then he did not speak, and she did not speak, either. She had nothing to say—she wished him good fortune and better luck.

"I—" he stopped and produced a scroll from his pocket, "—I brought this letter from Hokage-Sama. She assured me that Itachi-Sama can't discharge you without her and Sasuke-Sama's approval! You shouldn't worry anymore. Rest easy!" He placed the scroll by her side and created the broadest smile she had ever seen on his face: it made him appear . . . a little playful!

Hinata smiled, too, a customary smile to return his. She did not look at the letter, not once, her eyes now focused on the flames as though they had stolen her heart and burnt it to ashes.

"Why hasn't . . . he replied?" she asked in a low, low voice and advanced the cup to her mouth. Her heart was just not in this home tonight—on autumn nights, it never was . . .

"I . . . can't say. He should've been back by now," he said, his smile softening, his eyes looking at the yellows and blacks that danced across her face. And then she said nothing and then he said nothing and then the moth said something lovingly to the lily and his storm, but neither heard and neither spoke anymore . . .

With his wings taken, the Crow's journey was difficult through storms; but if home was where the heart was, his existed in a single entity; the rest of his heart, fragmented, existing in patches and buried in each grave, dead like the occupants. The patches stopped beating when theirs had stop beating; each lump knew their rhythms well.

The house was quiet, a place of dim lights and old murmurs from empty rooms. His shadow stalked the walls like a ghost that came by from the graveyard, often. A welcoming coo, soothing and mild, issued from his chambers; and the piece of _this_ heart that remained with him, resonated in love as though it was made to beat along with the child's heart, and without it, it would perish—unloved and lonely.

And the child was storm tonight, weary of his lies. He was ready to come into the world of waking men, with eyes fire and firesome: a divine conception at autumn's peak, but _this_ conception took place in Winter's dream and Winter's womb, and it was more divine than the last one—a new rebirth for this child that was _his_ and _his_ alone! The child opened his eyes, and there she sat by his side, his mother, a white haze, a beautiful apparition in the mist-woven room that was too dim and dark; and the child lifted his torso off the sweat-soaked covers that smelt of his musk and scent, his arms out-stretched, his fingers trembling, his water-starved lips shaking . . . just to whisper in a tone loaded with love and longing he had not felt in so long: "O-Okā-San . . . I've missed you!"

And a ferocious love that filled his eyes and dreams since their parting darkened his gaze, and his mother's countenance emerged from the patches of this world he had woken to: and she was beautiful! So beautiful! Beautiful like the moon. Beautiful like the moth. Beautiful like the Lord. Beautiful like the Devil. She was everything and nothing! Amen! Amen! Amen!

He just saw her lips, wearing the haze of a smile so permanent yet fleeting, kissed by Spring in haste before she drew him into her breast; and he was too old to draw milk from her teat and fall asleep again; so he wept and clung to her in love; she kissed his brow and cheek and stroked his head and back. Every man was a child against a mother's breast!

When she spoke from lips sweetened by winter's coming, her voice was so rich and deep, not like a woman's; he looked up and his red eyes fixed on her long, long white throat, touched by her smooth hair, where a little shadow lay like a speck and the protrusion that moved there as she spoke; but he loved her voice more now than he had loved her voice in the red of his memories, with a sword of love running through her heart that bled for his love still! She asked him to go back to sleep before food was prepared. Yes, he was hungry! She knew! She always knew what he loved and liked and feared, like a mother would, like a mother should!

Then she lowered him gently back on the bed, his eyes filling with new dreams that dripped from the over-brimming red in her eyes; and when she bent her head to kiss his brow again, he felt a musk of rains and moths in her hair. Such a lovely smell that assured him of her coming, and he felt content in sinking back into the ocean of her lies . . . and what were lies from a mother's lips? Stories, just stories _all_ children loved!

The forest beckoned him now, and its call was crushing. His blood ran and danced at the phantom-image of that place in the forest that was blossoming in rich purple; so he left the sleeping child in a dream and walked with steps less steady and careful than before.

The smell was faint and it played with his senses with a cruelty . . . he always liked!

And memories had come running back like children into the house of his mind—past was never in the past. It was haunted like homes and tasted rotten and sweet like candies! "Itachi, my boy, my sweet sweet boy!" she spoke. "You are a child, my child!" he spoke. Won't you come and kiss and smell and taste our love? Why did they matter?

He had piled the corpses from the grey of his threshold to the pink of the horizon. Oh, sweet pink, spring in Winter's sky—there, right there, bleeding its heart out in love.

Oh, Winter, sweet sweet Winter, come here running for the heart that keeps. Oh, child, sweet sweet child, come here singing, see that for you it bleeds.

Such love in the white of Winter, pink like spring, pink like blood. Sing Autumn child, sing songs, sing! They grow fierce, forever smothered by your love . . .

There was always a little wickedness in you, your heart, your feet, your hands. A sly tongue that told lies. An evil hand that broke hearts. The forgetful eyes that chose new things. The wicked boy. The wicked child. Your tongue was no less wicked—serpent-like, profane like the Devil's. You wanted to know—you did not want to know what lay in another's heart; such was the indecisiveness in your pretty, pretty heart—the abode of Devil's love.

Are you shy? Everything is gone, but the whimpers the child's throat has sealed away for _you_. Won't you listen, won't you see, won't you feel, the love Autumn has nurtured in his heart? No, you shall bleed it on Winter's ground, too, and put a new heart in its place that listens and sees and feels . . . just _you_ —only _you_! Amen! Amen! Amen!

The smell was strongest here, and his companions danced on Devil's wings, awaiting his union with moon and moth in this night when Autumn sang the loudest! The reaping had begun now, and Winter unleashed its first whisper!

Itachi stood by the spot where she had expelled the black curd, and he knew she wasted a part of him here. No matter—another time! Tonight he came to look upon the lilies and smell the moths that expelled poisonous fumes into the air whilst mating viciously! He looked upon lilies, in autumn's bloom, dancing and catching the moon in their hearts. He had walked for an hour without a sense and sight, but now his eyes opened to colours.

His lashes trembled faster than moth's wings, passion shaking loose and coming alive in his veins and loins like a wanton creature out for union, and he crumpled to his knees on the poison-soaked soil of autumn upon which pink moths writhed and wilted after mating in frenzy. A red one was dying, too, but its death was slower and sweeter than the pink ones! So foolish in lust—so hopeful in love! They jumped, pumped full with poisons filling their bodies as they awaited release. So perverse. So simple. So common. This ground was their lust's grave—forever, always!

He gazed up, purple spots appearing in his reds, and beneath the tree, a fine patchwork of moon's light and night was on his face; he leant his head back and his spine and neck curved and his arms fell slackly to his sides; his hair hung loose and wet from his head as rain fell. His nostrils flapped and he sniffled like a child punished with severity: he had no space left in his senses to fill up with this smell; this was a holy perversion of his wishes—a wanton divinity!

His hand brushed and pressed harder against his wanting organ that desired something tight and wet to let out the primal ooze; and his eyes opened wide and his mouth opened wider to issue sighs from a breast that rose and fell fast—and soon his breaths morphed into laughter; and he laughed and fell back against the tree, with one leg stretched out and one bent awkwardly. Every memory of his mother, father, child, flowed in and flowed over the brink—there was nothing more to accumulate! He was full! He was about to take flight upon _his_ faith with wings reborn and mighty!

And he laughed and laughed as though everything was humorous tonight; his laughter crackling like thunder, soothing like breeze. He was not keen to run through the veins without purpose; and what was love till it did not but flow from the eyes? He closed his eyes, humoured, still laughing . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : Tokugawa Ieyasu in my story is very, very loosely based on the famous historical figure. He will share some core traits with the man; however, treat my Ieyasu as an original character. (Ieyasu, however, did have male and female lovers, something that was fairly common amongst all Shoguns.)

 **Yoshiwara** : A famous prostitution centre in Edo that flourished during the Tokugawa period.

 **Takao** : A name awarded to a Tayū in Yoshiwara's famous Tayū house. There were eight Takao's (possibility nine or ten) in Yoshiwara's history.

 **Kiku** : Japanese for Chrysanthemum.


	72. The Child was Storm

**Chapter Seventy-Two** : The Child was Storm

# # # # # #

Some men were boys at heart—companions in spirit. Boys played in Spring and Summer's warmth, but Autumn made them grow and Winter kept them still and young. It was this lull, this stillness that never left the limbs of men—some men, not all men, were prone to this strange habit; and when behaviours became habits, it was harder and harder to shake them off. This permanence haunted men to their graves.

So at heart they remained boys; in spirit, men. Strange, such strange habits to seek and savour. They played games and their games were endearing, child-like, but deadly, tricky just the same. Their hearts had never known the sure touch of an adult's duplicity that was most cruel; and you set children to catch children—men only punished them.

And he loved the storm that was sated and quiet now, having spent its wrath inside the bedevilments of his dreams—dreams created for children. The storm was primal and in a state of infancy again. Soon, it would feed well upon the last harvests of Autumn's life and make itself anew, drive itself to anger and a state of vengeance.

But how would it feel to control it, direct his hand to its head and stroke it? He knew—he knew how to calm the child that was storm. It was hard to communicate his heart through the magnificent barrier of flesh and bones. The instrument thump-thumped and spoke its language, but his tongue was not always warm to its pleas. It stayed still the way he stayed calm. It was a secret shared between them.

Winter did not always speak its heart: no, its mind and mechanism were more open to scrutiny; its spirit, naked and white, hidden underneath the pristine grave whose bits fell from the sky; it was a call to run and hide! It drew out children with promises of Autumn's last remains that grew on trees bent and deep in forests crooked; but they got lost in mild mists and callous colds; out in the wilderness they perished, with red and pink upon their lips, lungs full of liquid blood, bones cold and brittle. Winter had many stories to tell; ah, but children should fear it in their hearts and bones—they should fear it, always.

In Autumn's rains that fell like children's prayers mothers died with swords in breasts; arms outstretched, defenceless, one touched Winter upon its lips and brow. Death danced red and pretty in Winter's countenance—a child's mockery, a child's gift, like a smudge against white. It was beautiful—most precious gift from Nature!

And Winter's spirit was beleaguered by Autumn's lush lashes, petal-mouth ever since it was a babe whimpering in his arms (a mother's love was an expected condition; her child's beauty, a lasting malady). Its signs remained above its continuous graveyard, purple and pretty and with a heart so hard. Now, bodies of kin lay deep in soil, full of earth's creatures, eyes open and full of terror. Did they still see in the graves? Did they still feel in the dark? Did they still think in Winter's graveyard? Strange, he did not ever want to see, hear, know of the reds and loves and pleas that parted from their bodies. Children ought to forget things that caused them worry!

This child—it would coo and it would gnarr, but his heart was set, desperate to avoid this inevitable spar. And it would grow deadly—it would grow violent—in Winter's heart, a season of love's end and a new start!

Lantern glowed on the small table, the colour of which was soft red: pink moved through wreaths that came from warm food and darted about, excited like insects forgotten in winter's air. Light grew, a budding flower, on the map of the boy's bony cheek he chose to see. It lacked radiance and ruddy red that complemented the plumpness it had in this youth's spring! This ailment sucked him dry of his vigour and smile and anger; his complexion, dull like flour, which possessed an elusive chalky hue—a feeble and etiolated colour.

The boy had not looked at him yet, his clumsy fingers busy with food; but his heart did not seem interested in feeding taste to his hungry tongue; and it had hungered and hardened in his mouth, deprived of the things all men cherished just to survive—illusions made the heart happy, but they did not satisfy a man's . . . primal drive.

"Sasuke, do you not like the food?" he asked, almost bored of the hanging silence between them (even men who conversed with silent brides grew bored sometimes and coveted the sounds of children's merrymaking): the child woke up, but had his senses woken up, too? He would just have to find out! So he stroked the boy's head, sweetly, cautiously; he did not want to frighten him—yet!

The boy, Sasuke, did not answer: he fumbled with food, his fingers shaking, unable to steady the chopsticks as though he never practiced to hold them in his childhood. He was of half a mind to grasp Sasuke's fingers, which had gone pale as winter's fire, and help him, but the frown that grew between his smooth eyebrows stopped him. He could tell that his tongue was dripping with questions . . .

"Where were you?" Sasuke asked in a manner as if he had not used his voice in so long and cast his suspicious eyes about him, not casting them on his sibling.

"I had—"

"I read the letter," he cut him off, squared his shoulders, placed the chopsticks on the table. Green veins jumped and became prominent in his whitest neck, portions of which were pink with blood—or, perhaps, it was the trick of the light; Itachi could not say.

"The letter was from Tsunade," he said and sniffed and strained his facial muscles as if he was still in pain. "You took a break? Where did you go?" And this time he looked at Itachi, and his face went beneath the threads of lights that travelled across his features in sanguine movements.

Sasuke had bathed: his face was sharp, clean, and alert; his hair, though still quite wild, fine and supple; his body smelt of a fragrance the servant must have added to warm water—sandalwood and something else . . . his father's eyes that slept in his face had not risen yet to match Itachi's arrogance; bespeaking calm, they hid away the undercurrent of fear and anger; but he could see, he always could!

"Village business," Itachi replied and gazed upon the lantern: it was their father's, and it was old and frail now—its light, still magnificent, defying the time, existing in hearts; but it missed the mark on his heart; it had missed it dearly!

"Karin's gone—" Sasuke stopped and titled his head and looked ahead at the shadows that materialised softly on the paper-screen, "—she'd never leave without telling me."

Itachi felt such resentment towards Kai: he had a small duty to fulfill, yet he failed him again. He did not let anything manifest on his face and brushed away the forelock resting on Sasuke's forehead between his eyes. He could never understand how the child managed to function with such a disorderly appearance: all things considered, it matched his contempt for the norms—an apt union Itachi could never reconcile with his brand of austerity. . .

"Suigetsu—he's gone, too," Sasuke spoke again, and Itachi's own quietness made the situation more bothersome. "Where is he?" And Sasuke looked at his brother again—who possessed touches of their mother's tender countenance and marks of their father's firm one—his eyes hard, spilling over with accusation this time. My, the child had so many questions to ask tonight! And Itachi smiled, slow eyes following the motion of the light as it moved like an ooze along the white neck of the child, overwhelming the colour of youth in his veins—he was angry, frustrated, weak!

"Rest now," Itachi whispered and took Sasuke's hand in his and brushed his fingers over the bony knuckles. "Look how the fever has affected you. If you do not rest, I will not allow you to rejoin. Sleep now, and we will talk in the morning."

Defiance lashed, unbound in the boy's blood and eyes: how long would the barricades hold? Truths were inevitable; and he would brave the storm that was his boy when the time arrived! He was fearless, heartless, soulless in his convictions that were as supreme as the sensation of being touched by the backhand of Divine.

Sasuke lowered his gaze, his lashes bearing his father's light, and raised it back up again; and in his eyes, something had lost its bearing, and he questioned him no more . . .

# # # # # #

She stood looking at the stalk that had risen above the soil that was wet and loose. The seedling fed upon rains and breathed in riches of this land; and for the first time in its life, it saw light come from Autumn's sun: it was aloof this sun, but not as distant and uncaring as _Winter's Son_ would be. Its light, soft as lilies, possessed a vague yellow hue that floated upon the thicker air pervading in this season. It was tough to draw it in and relish the wonders of . . . being alive? She frowned!

Rao had planted a curse into the ground, and this garden turned gloomy at this accursed child's birth. The more it grew, the more lonely it made her feel; and it had only just begun its cooing, its playing, its scheming in Winter's bosom. Soon, it would have its heart in its fist, make funny sounds from a throat untrained by years and duplicity. Then it would become the apple of his eye—only apple of his eye; and he would see nothing else, none but _it_! Its eyes would snare his gaze; its coos, his ears; its presence, his spirt, his soul, and everything evermore! Oh, where was she in Winter's heart? Nowhere—not even in the little corner by the graves . . .

Curse this child! Curse this boy! Curse this storm! She wished she could have her beloved's heart, empty it out of all the things he cherished and fill it up with her images as inducements for his passions; but it was not easy; it was never easy between them. That autumn evening when he had touched her with tenderness in the reclusive garden behind Kuro's house, there was bloom and passion in the sky, an intense shade of coming murders. Long, so long ago—this memory was tired from running on the roads of her thoughts.

But once upon a time, several moons past, Winter was a lovely, lovely, lovely boy. He took care of the wild boy, Sasuke, and loved him so. She would come to him with letters in her hands that shook with the thoughts of his uncertain nature. She sat and watched as the little boy dragged his bag to him, took out his Anbu things, and played with them.

Then Winter—her love and heart, Itachi—would take him into his lap and ask, eyes bent upon the little creature in reverence that wounded her soul, "where did you hide the Kunais?"

The mean little monster said nothing; he laughed and hid his face into Itachi's breast. Then he talked and talked, and, outside, sky was changed by night's wine, a glass filled to the brim with promise of love eternal; but promises were only promises. Night was a liar—Truth was not in its nature!

The child grew sleepy, and night imitated him, too—its hues diluted by more sinister comings that made it feel weary and tired of wearing so many colours for show. Itachi lifted up the boy and pulled him to his breast and left the room; but he stopped at the door of the library, his face cast in the red lantern's light, just for a moment to break her heart: "I've got to put Sasuke to bed. Then I have to finish my Anbu reports. Give your parents my regards—I won't be able to meet with them."

And then he left, without ever looking at the letters she had in her grasp; he pulled away from the room and light, and red lifted off his face as though a veil had been touched tenderly by evening's breeze . . .

She looked up, pulling her eyes away from the shivering bud that was still frail and little: the sky was decorated in red and purple finery. It would be dark and night's arrival was imminent. The waxing moon would need more nights to locate its true strength and have intercourse with darker shades and conquer them—lay siege to their territory in arrogance and white armaments.

It had been two days and one night since Sasuke woke up, and whilst Itachi called Rao back to the house, he did not bother to invite Izumi to his chamber; but he had shown her such passion when Sasuke was still shivering in bed, bothered by pain and fever. It felt like a dream she dreamt in passion, during nights when storm raged and beat against the walls of her of house in anger. Such a dream was her refuge; he, her solace; his flesh, her flesh's companion!

She wanted to sense the frenzy of him inside her flesh, relish the taste of him on her tongue, enjoy the sight of him in her eyes. It was not fair to be wanting all the time—it was never fair! And she lowered her eyes, missing marks of affection and finding marks of envy, and gazed at the supple bud that would flourish well in Winter. What if she were to trample it before it quenched its thirst from love's waters bowered by Winter's obsessions?

"Izumi!" came a voice from the window of the large house. "Child, come inside. It is cold!"

Izumi spun around, her garments floating, her hair-decorations clinking. "Y-Yes, Rao-Sama!" she spoke loudly in reply, watching as Rao slid the window shut to keep the cold from getting inside. She did not look back at the bud and walked inside the house, her heart made!

When Izumi stepped into the house, an emptiness greeted her. The rooms of his dead relatives were haunting. She would be lying if this house did not frighten her; it did! It was lonely like graveyards and silent like winter meadows where shadows of Spring's flowers thrived, not the bright flowers that brought joy to hearts. She hated Higanbanas that stood inviting like harlots on death's shores. Its beauty enraptured Winter's sight and senses! She hated red—hated it!

"Speak, child," Rao spoke and walked around the room with an incense container in hand, "you have been quiet since you came here. Did Itachi scold you? He can be very hard sometimes."

"No—he—" Izumi stopped and looked around at the little puffs of clouds that filled up the room. She pressed her sleeve to her nose: the small was pleasant, but potent and over-powering.

Rao chanted a song in a lilting, rough voice. Izumi had never heard it before: it was a _Song of Love_ from the mountain nuns—it was sung to protect children against daemons that roamed the dark, seeking wayward children to bewitch and murder; but was there a song to save daemons from daemons? She did not think such a song existed.

Rao sat down by the fireplace that was hot and warm, huffing. She placed the container, which gave out small and indistinct puffs of smoke, down on the table; lights travelled inside the deep lines of her face, and she appeared lovely in her own way when she smiled. She looked at Izumi, eyes shining as though they had stolen light's character. She wanted her to speak!

Izumi worked her lungs and drew in the fragrant air to fill them to their depths. Her breast rose, and then she let out a loud and long sigh. Fire was warm on her face and bosom, parts of which turned light pink. "Itachi-Sama doesn't lay with me anymore," she spoke and saw Rao's smile lose its firmness, "if he doesn't—call me, how can I give him an heir?" Izumi looked at her with wide eyes, her cheeks carrying a distinct sheen of sweat.

Yellow light illuminated the well-defined lines in Rao's face, lines that told her history. She did not speak for few heartbeats, a time and distance that tortured Izumi's heart; but she waited and hoped that _this_ would make her compel Itachi to love her—even if it was only her flesh! In time, he would care for this seedling, too! In time . . .

"You are not his wife, child," Rao spoke, sighed, turned her face away, "I cannot force him to court you, and you cannot demand of him to care for you.

"A man makes or breaks a family—women only endure. So our laws make it so that a husband _must_ fulfill his wife's needs. It is his duty. It is not about love—it is about the principle of things. Why can I say to him about you? It is not that easy, my dear."

Rao returned her gaze to Izumi who had tiny yellow pearls in her eyes. "Do not grieve," Rao spoke and placed her old hand that was rough on hers, "I shall talk to him at night. Be patient. He is a good boy. He will listen to me—if not tonight, then tomorrow.

"For tomorrow brings hope, and we must never let go of hope!" And this time, Rao's smile was loveliest, but wistful . . .

# # # # # #

At night, breeze was gentle and calm: this was a welcoming respite from the intermittent storm that lashed these lands with heartless vengeance. It would be back with words in its rain, passion in its thunder, punishment in its lightning that would make Men's souls ring! She waited for its return and clash with Winter's cold heart; she would watch it lose its intensity; and, perhaps, then it may dart!

The willowy, white, beautiful boy of winter, whom she had rocked to sleep in her aged arms, was less aloof, less cold this evening. Dressed in traditional clothes, he sat by the small table and wrote, a thick brush coated with ink in his hand. The library was quiet, its walls lined with scrolls, antique frames, heavy cabinets, and more. Light from lanterns gleamed across this room's accessories, embedding itself in forgotten brushstrokes, making them shine! The room seemed to come alive—even in this Winter boy's presence!

"Have you forgotten about the heir business, child?" Rao asked and took a sip from the warm tea. "You run away from it the way thieves do from the ends of ropes."

Itachi created the last letter and looked at her, the brush still clutched in his fingers with delicate practice. "Sasuke sleeps in my chamber, and I have no intention of entertaining her whims in his bed.

"Why do you suggest this? The thought is unthinkable."

"The thought of you going near her in the guestrooms was just as unthinkable," Rao said sternly; her calm temper was shaken, "but you did as you pleased—I did not stop you. I hoped that it would yield a result, but you withheld your Chakra from her, robbing her womb of what it needed to flourish."

He lifted and straightened his throat, letting it wear a more lively colour for a change. Then he placed the brush into the ink bottle and directed all of his attention on her, but he said nothing.

Itachi looked at her with eyes that gleamed with light—it was like a little smile in his smile-less eyes. His face, framed by smooth and loose black hair, was white and lovely for her eyes, yellowed by brightness.

"Your behaviour is unbecoming. You would be more interested in Izumi if you stopped enjoying yourself with that foul woman—that Tayū," she spoke in a heavier tone, taking in a deep breath and letting it out quickly. Her eyes studied his eyes, but when eyes smiled for too long, it was a show of insincerity.

"Would my behaviour be less unbecoming if I treat her the way I treat a Tayū? Though she would not enjoy such honest intimacy," Itachi spoke, and he looked at her with sleepless eyes that never desired the comfort of sleep; and that made her worry.

Rao put down the cup on the table with a harder hand, grabbed hold of his silky sleeve embroidered with purple lilies, and pushed it up. Her eyes gathered fury that had slept through the years, undisturbed: a purple vein throbbed pretty and distinct in his arm that was white as settled snow, begging to be noticed as though the rest had collapsed from overworking.

"You have been taking more of it again?" Rao asked and pressed her fingers with a stern mind into his flesh, the whorls of which were rough and deep like old soil. "Why—just to go beyond the shores of pleasure? To heighten your baser needs? You disappoint me, child!"

"Then I shall be more considerate of this girl—ask her to share my failings," Itachi whispered, and it made anger breathe fire into her body; and she struck him on the cheek once, twice, thrice—with an open palm that was made harder and rougher with the deep passage of years—till the little strength old age had missed faded from her arm.

Rao pulled her hand back, breathing irritable, looking at the soft pink moving up into his cheek: the hue was reminiscent of the most fragile flower that grew at Spring's end; but his face did not twist to show her any emotion.

"Shame on you!" she hissed and clenched her fingers to stop herself from hitting him again. "You went near her in that state when you knew better than to treat her like a common Tayū. You broke that girl's heart when you never wanted her.

"Now that that state has passed, you are not interested in her anymore. Beastly—vulgar. I did not expect this from _you_!"

Itachi looked back at her and spoke not a word, his countenance did not betray whatever scurried with poisons in his veins; and that engendered an indignation in her, and she left his room in anger . . .

Night walked on through the shades, growing deeper and deeper into the unknown, but it did not stop to affect the light growing to bursting in her heart, eyes, and countenance. Izumi smiled, elated. She wore her best Kimono, roughed her lips, put up her hair in the most fashionable knot—the kind Tayū's favoured!

Rao assured her that Itachi would not send her away—not tonight. So she made her way to the largest guestroom, heart flying through the sky! It was a girl's heart and it broke easy—it fixed itself just as easily; and she opened the door, and her smile brightened the still-deep colour in her lips at the sight of him: he sat on the futon, his expression not brightened by any smile; but when he looked at her, sitting inside the sober dimness of this room, she could not help herself from feeling . . . loved!

And Izumi did not see the ghosts of seasons and pasts in his eyes—so enamoured by Winter's child! There was a kind of desperate frenzy that danced in her flesh, and she wanted to control it, satisfy it, feed it! Only he could complete her, do away with the things that bothered her.

And he would love her the way she loved him! He would! He should! He could! She closed the door behind her. The deep of the night's yearning was still few hours away . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : **Converse** , obsolete, sexual intercourse.


	73. Lost, not Found

**Chapter Seventy-Three** : Lost, not Found

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It was a day like any other day in this dreadful season that breathed winter's winds with increasing joy: chilly, gloomy, dreary. Everything smelt of lilies and rot, a devious love of Autumn and Winter.

Animals lowered their heads and fed upon Autumn's remnants. Spring no longer remained in this soil's memory: it was but a forgotten trace; dead and buried in-between wet layers, it was meant to be forgotten . . .

It was quiet out here whilst she walked through the forest, homeward. Her bearing less calm, more anxious in the half-light of morning, foregrounded against a sobering mist of grey that bedecked willow trees. The forest slept through the dread of this season. Would it even smile in Winter? She could not say.

Flowers of spring at her feet had long since wilted—their brittle stems that remained above ground, decorated with shells of dead pink moths, cracked and crackled like morning biscuits made from grains. To her dismay, she caught sight of purple lilies hiding in shadows like scheming children! They shook . . . so slightly and gleefully against an air current she could barely feel on her eyes and cheeks.

Her face fell and she looked upon a pink moth that still struggled with sensations of pleasure and death in its belly, its flesh eaten hollow by a distinctly purple poison. She bent down, took it into her hands, watched it struggle in great pain. It had laid its eggs . . . somewhere amongst the thousands that clung (white, round, pearly) to the underside of leaves. _Was it worth it_? she wanted to ask, but what would the moth born without speech tell her? Nothing . . .

When she was one and seven years of age, she was a budding woman going through the motions of flesh's natural metamorphosis; she had started bleeding from her still-ripening genitals few years ago, which produced a sharp odour, which had yet to ripen like spring's fruits and expel . . . something sweeter.

She hated the blood when it came—messy and smelly and red. It soaked the rags clean through, spread out and dried up like loose jam over the swell of her thighs (when she was not careful), and made her belly ache during the days she did not eat well. Her mother was happy—she even smiled—that her daughter had gone through this bloody _rite of passage_! She did not understand her, at all (her daughter was half a woman now!); however, books on anatomy and workings of sex fascinated her just the same!

Still young and still foolish, she expected _all_ boys to flock to her: she read that the smell of female sex—the one that was trapped underneath the neat enclosure of nether lips—was especially appealing to young males. It made little sense for some men to reject her and some to want to court her. This paradox of men's hearts and loins and noses puzzled her!

When she first met Sasuke, he was one and three years of age; and she, one and seven. In her, a nerve-fraying desperation and underlying frenzy grew, one she had never experienced before, at the sight of him: he was the most beautiful and wild boy, with eyes like the blackest stones, with tongue like the sharpest kunais. He cared not whose heart he broke and wounded. He spoke what was in his mind. He was honest. He was kind and unkind—strangest, littlest boy!

The older one lured flesh with his flesh; the younger one repelled flesh with his boyhood. There was a seizing charm that haunted about the older one, and though more beautiful than the wicked one, the innocent one was too pure to enchant Man—he was not yet ripe. The rhapsody of his flesh, which was caught in music of youth for the cunning one, she found it wanting.

His accent, still not honed and matured, shifted innocently between formal and informal, and something else she could not place: he was keen on impressing the older one whenever he was around. He would stand in his shadow, face lifted and eyes spirited, and speak, speak, speak. He would even smile then—oddest, sweetest boy!

He was young, but not young enough that would entail abstention from intercourse with ripe girls and women (boys and men, too). Oh, her heart and mind, which followed her flesh's dictations, worked humourlessly to coax him into intimacy. Even at that age, he was a bit taller than she was, with legs and arms robust. And as sweet and fair and lovely as he appeared, he hid away his intemperate nature in the close disguise of his innocence and boyhood: he possessed quite the temper!

Noises from Nature jumbled up and sexual tumult ruled her flesh. She had always known that, if she did not act, it might eventuate in a harmful behaviour; so whilst they stood alone and together in Spring's forest, which was always in a state of waking, his temper lashed her senses when she reached down and touched his genitals through the material of his Chūnin pants.

A frown changed his face that grew less kind in appearance in spite of Spring's tender lights that floated alongside his white face and near-transparent mists; and then he rejected her in a tone of anger overflowing. Just like that! She asked _why_ , but he spoke not a word to calm her anxiousness.

Then he walked away and left a silent girl behind in spring's coming noise; and as he matured, he grew more and more distant from her. She tried and tried, but there was no re-writing the inscriptions on his heart, well and meticulously constructed in matters which concerned her . . . and other things. He never requited her lust . . .

He was most gifted, and she always felt that his duties did not do justice to his outsized talents; but what good were his mind and body to her when his heart did not inspire any lust for her and her flesh? And, yes, boys (men, too) came to lay with her, asked of her to spread her thighs wide to accommodate their lengthening organs, but he never did. To him, she was invisible: to her, he was visible. What a lovely boy—hurtful and cold to her!

When the wriggling stopped, so did the struggle of memories. Gently, she placed the moth down amongst many free ones that lay dead and soaked over the ground—it was drizzling again. Then she made her way to her home. Trees stood jutting in her path, but she knew her way back, like always.

She had just stepped onto the man-made stone-street, when a voice called to her: "Sakura-San!"

Sakura turned around: it was Reo. He came to her with an ungainly walk, hair all sprung and prickly. He was clumsy, she thought, but she managed a smile. He had a scroll in his right hand—the ends of it appeared blotchy black with rain.

"It's from Serizawa-San—Sasuke-Sama might resume his duties today with Kai-San. He wants you to make a full report 'bout the medical supplies that were used in the Cap'in's absence," he said, held out the scroll, and flashed a cutthroat, dazzling smile. He had a perfect set of teeth!

Sakura nodded and took the scroll. She did not stick around for the drizzle turned colder and heavier. She truly hated Autumn! So she turned away from him, quietly, and made her way home, eyes bent on countless ripples appearing in the film of water that persisted over the road.

She did not hear the slosh-slosh of her sandals: the walk back home was a lonely one. The streets were empty; it was a ghost-town with few stray voices that came from homes and shops. Lights blinked on closed doors, their hues smothered by mists and rains. How could one's spirits stay jovial in such gloom? The purple lilies, such children, were cruel!

But she had to meet with him and take from him a promised cure. It was all for naught . . . her father was still dying piece by piece from an ailment that was incurable. When she was young, he sold wares in treacherous lands: a peddler of common things, he was not respected amongst the people of villages.

The girl-child Sakura wanted to be a merchant like him, but as she grew up, she felt the scorn of men hit her harder than it had her father: sour-faced and high-strung, she turned her back to the craft. Her father was disappointed in her, but differences made men turn devils against you. It was no use!

She chose the path of a Shinobi—a life in which blood and creed mattered less. You brought back a pound of flesh from the enemy, and every man cheered! At dawn, you would fear nothing; at night, you would lay down to sleep in a fetal position and coo in fear of your victim's vengeance!

But it was so primal—everything was raw and real! Dirt under the fingernails of a common merchant was vile; blood-soaked fingers of a dutiful Shinobi, a measured mile. How things changed; how they remained the same. She grew up hating her merchant father, and, upon her, hung a mist of _otherness_ she never could escape.

In Naruto, she found peace of mind; in Sasuke, she sought peace of body, with exceeding desperation; and when the body was not at ease, the mind became a playground of dangerous riots that had a tendency to . . . stray; and she had strayed so far down the roads that lead to dreams of little girls, princes . . . escapes festooned with little thoughts littlest girls cherished.

And three years ago, he went away to sell medicines in a secluded village and contracted a fungal infection from a rare black-pin mould—one that festered between the dark seams of wet stones—that endured years of dormancy to cause men nightmares and suffering.

He got lost in rain and storm, but winter's snow that shone on peaks, with divinity in its unblemished state, caught his eyes; bewitched by its soft and enduring beauty, he wandered deeper into trouble. He was never the same again. Now, empty bottles of laudanum lay shining and scattered in the changing lights by his bed. In pain, he cried out obscenities; in anxiety, he coughed out blood that dirtied his clothes and sheets. Insolvent and irritable man, circumscribed by dreams that lay in ruin.

Hours of the day, days of the week, weeks of the month, months of the years locked together and blurred into spotty inscriptions on her _Dear diary_ scrolls; but her wishes that stayed smooth and regular like dreams suddenly became unattainable. _Will it be worth it_? she thought, but like the unspeaking moth, she had no answer.

Outside the window, sky turned red and dark, a wraparound of reds and purples for autumn's sky. A Kingly garb for a _King_ she always desired! But he was never hers—never . . . he was never fair—never . . .

Air, cool like rain, filled Sakura's lungs, and she placed the scroll on the table. It was time to meet up with the man in shadows again. He asked so much and gave so little; it was not as though he could give her what she wanted; but, at least, she found a purpose in him: a purpose to go on, a purpose to live!

With this last thought, she wounded her thumb between her teeth and felt the metallic spurt of bitterness tingle her tongue. Then she drew a quick symbol on the floor and made fast seals with her fingers; and in the blink of an eye, Reo felt her vanish in her room—without a trace!

When she appeared at the hideout, it was darker and sparsely lit than usual; but something was different this time: purple lilies grew from crevices in old walls, shirred by darkness and lichen, delicately. Their fragrance excited blood and bud—their presence roused lust and dust. Sweat materialized on her forehead, a cluster of droplets on her chin.

Bright chakra breaths crossed amidst flora like prayer beads, and at the hot sensations they stirred in air, blood gurgled from the broken orifice between her thighs and soaked through her underwear to leave a dark stain; and with it came the tiniest drop of black substance she had nurtured in her womb whilst dreaming of the older one. It hid well inside red and fell down into the crack that was like an unending gorge for its tiny size. It had found the right home to grow—at last!

She heard footsteps approach her and turned around; and, in a moment, a young man walked into the corridor and the wash of light that was dim. His face was meek, but she knew Danzō never kept the company of meek men. (She had never seen him before.) He looked at her and produced a scroll from his pocket—so Danzō did not want to see her this evening?

"Take it. A guard from Mist brought it—it's got another Kinjutsu," he spoke, his tone guarded, and held out the scroll. "Mei will bring another one when she comes to Konoha."

"When?" she asked and took the scroll from him.

"Soon," he gave a curt reply, his face full of shadows, and she felt that the conversation was over.

"You're bleeding," he suddenly said, looking down in curiosity at the red globules slithering down her left thigh. They itched, passing down over her skin, exciting fine vellus hairs as they went.

"I noticed," she said, but when she turned around to go for the receiving seal etched deep and black into the solid floor, he spoke again: "Keep an eye on that Hyūga girl."

"Hinata? Why?" she stopped and asked, shocked.

"Danzō-Sama's orders. He thinks that Itachi knows everything about you—it's for the best that you're careful," he said, but his words dripped with latent threat this time. Distracted, he turned and tapped his finger thrice against the withered lantern fixed to the wall with visible screws. This dislodged a chunk of muck stuck to the inside of the glass and brightened the beam of light, in which the droplets appeared thick and shiny against the blushing pink of her flesh.

Then he stepped back, as if to give her room to re-collect her breaths, and walked away, a lasting echo of his steps filling the tight corridor. She thought it wise to keep Itachi's forays into her mind a secret. As always, Danzō posed more questions and provided no answers; asked more and gave little in return.

The air sung a refrain, but she had no words to answer it; she heard it one last time, talking to her heart, and disappeared from the corridor inside a bright beam of light . . .

# # # # # #

When Izumi woke up in the morning, she saw red moths dead in the large garden tree; saw them hanging from boughs like frozen torrents of blood; but when the boughs shook to cold, they, like leaves which remained, fell down upon the sodden ground bursting with smells. Had the red moths come to gaze upon the beloved in envy? How terrible!

Now, their bodies lay scattered on the ground, interspersed by water-filled shallow rills in the soil. The bud had grown some more, encouraged by the season that allowed it to soak up its richness. At this rate, it would sprout a flower soon. Oh, it was most concerning! What would she do?

The wild little boy stole her letters in the past, often; but one night, bursting with anger, she gave chase to him through rolling mists and wet flora. And when she caught up as he stopped by the pond, smiling at what he had done, she grabbed him by the wrist, swung him around, and struck him across the cheek! The quick clap-like sound echoed, as if a wet and slippery pebble collided into pebble.

The plump cheek rippled with the force of her aggression, and red darted across white with quickness. Most children would have wept, but Sasuke was not most children: he stared at her with fire in his eyes and right cheek. Rain and mist did not cool that shade, and she found herself getting afraid at the sight of Itachi whilst he walked to her with quick steps, his Sharingan growing in anger inside narrow shadows.

Itachi went down on one knee and touched the soft cheek that burnt. Sasuke did not say a word, his eyes fixed on her with a determination she did not expect from a child of six. There were tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, spread around like pond bubbles that reflected light—she could tell that they did not materialize from weakness, but from anger!

"Why did you hit him? He's _just_ a boy!" Itachi spoke in a deeper voice not controlled by his patience and rose to his feet—his Sharingan had not returned to a state of rest.

"I—" Izumi stopped, her heart racing in madness. What had she done?

Izumi's eyes widened and then she squeezed them shut and pressed her hands to her breast when she saw Itachi raise his hand to hit her, too. She sniffled, shaking in fear to brace his strike, cracked her eyes open, peered at him. He had lowered his hand that rested on Sasuke's head now.

"I-Itachi-San, I'm sorry—please—"

"Get out of here—I don't want to see you again," he said in a tone that was calmer than the previous one and lifted up Sasuke into his arms. Then he walked away back into the shadows that came from about the house.

"Itachi—Itachi-San . . . " she wept, looked down and then up at the sky where meek red danced, a rich palette awaiting the _rage_ of coming murders . . .

That was so long ago, before the murders, before the indifference, before the distance. Now, her eyes focused on the ornate wall-mounted rack, off which light glanced. The door to the ever-green garden lay open, letting in lights that powered through wet foliage.

Sounds of rain that struck lightly this house filled the room up to the ceiling. It was always raining these days. She gazed upon the visible bend of stream by the stone lantern—the stream had slightly overflowed its pebbled-bank, its speed retarded, and water sought new channels through rills. That portion of garden was . . . muddy.

Izumi saw hazes of red and black and purple koi twisting and glancing under numerous ripples, their heads bent to the stream's bed. They liked to stay here rather than swim out with the gentle flow. Sasuke fed them well. She sighed . . . Itachi was quiet—too quiet—whilst he sat by her side, busy writing . . . _something_.

Izumi had not expected that he become jovial over the prospects of sake and mating, but his distant nature hurt her heart. When Itachi was a boy, he always left her in awe—it shocked her that so wise a perspective would come from so young a boy!

The words from a boy that always delighted the girl, hurt the woman. There was a fear of his desertion that gave her nightmares. He was not the one to ply lovers with jewellery and affection, but she could not imagine why anyone would take instant flight after . . . getting better acquainted with _this_ side of him. One woman before her did: a hopeful bride-to-be like her, brought to his chamber by his insistent grandmother, she stayed for two days and two nights and fled his house, thinking him to be a corpse with no heart. Izumi could not imagine why!

She placed her hand gently on his working arm and leant her head against his shoulder. He stopped in his task of writing for a single beat—an agonizing fraction too long. Then he resumed without looking at Rao who was smiling from across the small table between them, pulling her grey-coloured hair from her face, her old eyes squinting.

Izumi smiled. She had dreamt of him for so long, settling and sliding between her legs, moving and delighting her flesh. Izumi did not understand why she took to her heels (but she heard from a trusted friend that the woman liked the younger brother more—how foolish!): he brought such delight to her senses in dying hours—he was a good lover; he did what she asked and touched her where she liked it most, with a face void of passion, with a steeliness to his tone. She did not care!

Izumi laid down to sleep and mate with him and creatures made music in the white light and black night. He liked to keep the garden door open during night, but she never felt the cold of winter glimmering in patches inside mists spreading in curls about ground; and she clutched to him and sighed to him in lust. She enjoyed initiating the act, making him join his flesh to her flesh. Girl—she was such a girl with the most girlish heart!

Often, he would lie on his back, hand on his breast, head and neck straight, and look up at the ceiling where reflected ripples rippled silver. Lost and unblinking, he stared, like nothing existed in the world but the faces of moon in _all_ manner of things; and she was forgotten in such moments. _Just_ like that!

And he was so beautiful that she would look upon the moon over his throat that peeked from between the hair so black. She was not allowed to press her body to him like a needy child after the act was done. He liked to maintain . . . distance—even from the lovers he indulged. So days crossed and nights passed, and she waited for a sign of him to appear in her womb. Sooner or later, it would, and _that_ made her so happy!

Izumi was thinking of speaking with him about the growing flower in the garden when the door opened and Sasuke walked in. Itachi stopped writing and looked up with hardness withering in his eyes. She looked at Sasuke, too, whilst he stood in the light that turned bright in mists dissipating—he looked unreal, his beauty unnatural (she never understood the women who desired the company of this man who approximated an ethereal boy in his adolescent years). The rain stopped . . .

"I need to speak with you—about the team," Sasuke said, his eyes wandering about the room. Itachi nodded once and frowned a subtle frown when Izumi did not move. Sasuke bent his head and let slip a little chuckle.

"Izumi—come!" Rao spoke as though she was speaking to a wee girl. At that, Izumi frowned, a frown that was exquisitely comical in appearance. She got to her feet, did a little bow to Itachi, and marched behind Rao—but not before sticking her tongue out at Sasuke whilst she passed through the door, a gesture that did not go unwitnessed by Itachi.

"What is it?" Itachi asked and rubbed his temple with the tip of his fingers.

"The team—where is it?" Sasuke asked, and Itachi saw the same accusing boy glaring at him from his face.

"I discharged them," he spoke simply and resumed writing.

"Why?" he asked, his tone impatient as always.

"Your team's incompetence nearly cost you your life," he paused and dipped the pen into the inkpot, "it is for the best."

"You can't discharge them without my—"

"I can—and I did," Itachi cut across him and stopped writing again, "it is in my authority to extend their stay. I decided against it. Suigetsu will come by to collect his resignation from the outpost. You can meet with him should you desire."

"What incompetence? You don't even tell me anything and keep doing things as you please!" Sasuke spoke, and his voice cracked with irritation—a bit.

"I do not wish to speak of it—that is all," Itachi spoke, and this time, he chose not to stop his writing and look at his younger sibling. He heard Sasuke breathe out a loud breath of frustration, but he said nothing. It was for the best.

Itachi was silent; Sasuke, annoyed of the scribbling noises that came from the pen scraping against the scroll. Itachi was ignoring him again, and he disliked that his brother had created his own scriptorium in the library to keep on acting in this manner.

Sasuke, determined to wheedle a tiny hint out of his brother, opened his mouth to argue when Kai came into the room through the garden. At his back, light shined bright that he looked like a lump of coal to Sasuke's eyes. Kai bowed his head and did not raise it. Always a sycophant—Sasuke truly loathed him!

"Till you are not strong and robust, Kai will oversee the matters of your team alongside you," Itachi spoke, and this revelation struck Sasuke's senses and made him angry.

"I don't need him," he said, almost whispering, almost hissing.

Itachi stopped writing. He put the pen down, gazed at the scroll, and stood up. He wore white garments with a black haori. Sasuke could not tell where his hairs, which fell upon his shoulders, began and ended. He walked through lights to Sasuke, breaking them in half, and stopped a step short of him.

"Be a good child. Do not disobey me," Itachi spoke and adjusted Sasuke's flak jacket. "Look how your hairs have grown. They grow so fast. Cut them." He nodded with just a little tilt of his head and smiled an unnatural smile that was soft and cold at the same time.

"Oh, I received the _delightful_ letter from the Hyūga Chūnin. Persistent girl," Itachi spoke and pressed Sasuke's rough hair down, "you clever, sweet child. It appears that I made a little error in Judgement. I cannot discharge her without a reason.

"And I searched hard in my memories and found an answer—if she has not learnt anything of value in the coming trials, I will discharge her. You may leave." Itachi gently tapped his fingers against Sasuke's cheek, twice. The older one could see the helplessness, the annoyance, the anger sprout in the younger one's eyes; but the younger one said nothing and left the room in silence.

When Itachi heard Sasuke leave the house, he turned around and looked at Kai: he had not lifted his face since he entered this room. "You could not hide one letter in my absence. Is watching over a little boy so hard? What am I to do with you?" he spoke, his smile lost to cool arrogance and cooler anger.

"Forgive me, Itachi-Sama. I—" he stopped, speaking in intermittent soft whispers, "—I left to tend to my sister, Kuro. She called me to her. She had a fever. She gets ill when seasons change."

"Leave—I will speak with you later," he commanded and watched Kai leave the same way he came in. His weakest shadow slipped away behind him.

A few moments passed and Rao came back into the room, and Itachi could tell that she was not happy with his treatment of his bride-to-be. He helped her sit down by the small table and spoke: "you should rest. This exertion is not good for your health."

"You do not care, child," she spoke and wiped away wispy silver strands from her cheek. "Show the poor girl a little warmth. She is heartbroken by your distance."

Itachi sat down, too, gazed at her, and spoke: "what more do you want me to do? Dandle her in my lap when she weeps—put morals of food in her mouth to satisfy her whimsy—write love letters to her whilst it rains?

"If that were your vision, then, perhaps, Serizawa was more suited for her. Though I imagine you will have to press him with conviction to take another wife, or relinquish the one he has—amidst great sorrow and tears. He is quite the romantic—or duty-bound. I have always misjudged his intentions regarding the most delicate matters of marriage—the man is very strange."

Upon hearing the frustrations of his typically cold grandson so apparent in his words, Rao pressed her hand to her lips and laughed . . .

# # # # # #

Wind swung the window open and it hit against the wall. Wind and rain came at his face. He was too tired to close the window. He liked the cold: it calmed the heats in his heart that raged in this unfamiliar age. Perhaps his heart had escaped the time of withering, staying young like him.

"His fever is down. He is sleeping," Kushina spoke, her faerie-like face glowing in the lantern that refused to go out. Minato smiled and Kushina elegantly interlaced her arm with his.

"I do not understand—the seals are not working," she spoke in her usual delicate voice whilst she looked out into the dark of the forest that fringed the peaks. "Maybe Sasuke really is responsible. Sharingan can manipulate the essence of the maturing seal—like Fugaku did with the host. It bypasses it.

"I do not know how—why. It is all a mystery to me."

"I was cut off from the Tulip Squad when the host went mad—disgraced. Danzō's orders," Minato spoke and issued a long white sigh that vanished into the breeze, "I thought that implicating Fugaku would grant me the seat after his shame—grant me the power to resist Danzō when he suggested that I place the essence in my son. I was wrong . . . "

"Minato . . . " Kushina whispered with trembling lips and squeezed his hand in hers. "It is not your fault. Darling, forgive yourself!"

"I never offered any aid regarding the coup. Maybe this is Karma . . . " he spoke, and she saw pearls floating over the oceans of his eyes—blue, ever blue!

"Do not fault yourself!" she assured and planted a kiss on his hand. "I have placed a good seal on Naruto—one that will mature quickly through the cold days of Autumn. The season favours this seal. He will recover fast!"

"Did he send the _rienjō_ to Hiashi's house?" Minato asked and looked at her. Kushina nodded.

"Few hours ago," she whispered with a sense of relief in her voice.

"We never should have burdened him with this matter—regardless, it is in the past now," he spoke, looking at the droplets crossing and flying across the window-frame—silver and delicate in the light, they were so many!

"He wants to re-join the squad. Should I . . . ?" she asked, unsure.

"Let him. It will make him happy," he answered, and his overcoat floated in a puff of breeze, its colours, its fires that marked the edges with surety had _truly_ faded . . .

Wind, unable to carry their whispers so far, reached Hinata with a gentleness. She sat by the lantern, its light passing through camellia's delicate white petals, which like silk were the finest and whitest. The purple lily had dried up by its side, and with its splendor lost, the chakra breaths stopped coming—vanished! She did not understand their mechanics.

Her father's house creaked less tonight. Perhaps the storm was calmer now. She moved the flowers aside and opened the first letter: the handwriting was made of erratic lines in spots of black ink; Naruto never had a steady hand.

Dear Hinata,

I'm sorry—I'm truly sorry. I never knew you, and you never knew me. I can't return the years I've taken from you; but with this, I hope [that] you find freedom in the new years you always wished for. You are free . . .

Find it in your heart to forgive me.

Your dearest friend,

Naruto.

Hinata's lips and fingers trembled, and the letter slipped from her hands. Hastily, she opened the other one: this was composed with a steady mind and bold hand, the lines having a sense of less impulse and more clarity. Minato wrote this—she could tell; and true to his promise, Naruto had freed her from their agonizing union with three and a half vertical lines and a clear black thumb-print.

She whimpered, like a girl child who tried hard to hide her weakness, breaths hissing from her bloodless lips in spurts. Frightened of the words as if they had come alive to bite her, she took hold of camellia's stem and ran out into the rain. It hit her flesh with a ferocious cry, roaring; excited from slumber her spirit, soaring.

Hinata did not care where she ran—heart-ward? Rain and wind struck her cheeks with passion; her wet hair and kimono slapped against her flesh, and she dripped, dripped, dripped! Her feet, bone-white and hard from years of toiling amidst the grass of moors, sank into the loose mud. She did not care. There was a strange sense of freedom in running—running—running!

At last, out of breaths, she sank down by a stone lantern. Fast droplets slipped off its edges like unbreakable and unending strings of pearls. She leant over the stream, her hand in mud, her other hand holding the camellia tight and hard. And she saw blood pool into her lips whilst she created a trembling smile; and she laughed—laughed for she felt happy!

"Free!" she said, elated without measure. "Free! O-Okā-San—I'm free!"

Hinata jumped to her feet and spun round and round and round in dizzying circles. The whole world and its hues crushed together to make of this woman a happy little girl! Round and round and round she kept spinning, releasing silver droplets in floating circles with her movements, thinking herself to be a string-less toy.

It was Naruto's birth date today, and a gift of freedom for him was truly an act of freedom for her! She loved Autumn—she loved him, missed him, desired him; and she stopped, leant her head back, and passed her hands over her hair and head and heart; sensed his songs rattle her spirit; felt his instruments kiss her flesh; heard his whispers in her head!

She opened and closed her eyes, blinking.

Free! Free! Free!

# # # # # #

Itachi was mean and imposing. He did not understand his older brother—not one bit. With Kai around, his movement was restricted. What to do—what to do! Time and Men were not on his side; it was like the whole world was out to get him, ruin him. He would not sit easy. Damn his brother—he was hiding something, and he intended to find out.

The emissaries from Cloud and Mist were coming soon. He had to create a chance to slip out. It was now or never! He smiled and opened the little safe place only he and Karin knew of. His Sharingan saw the surprise before he removed the seal-covered wooden piece in the floor of his room.

It was a missive, and its content—it surprised him! It said that Itachi asked of her to make a seal for him, a seal from the Base Seal utilised for Bijū sealing! His smile widened and he let out an innocent laugh.

 _Could it be_? he thought; but it was just a little game between hard-headed and unbending brothers now, was it not? Let some fools die; let some fools enjoy!

The thing was lost, not found; but soon—soon! Oh, his brother would be so sorry!

# # # # # #

 **EN** : **Mikudari-han** (literally 'three lines and a half') was a document used for divorce; however, most surveys in the late-nineteenth century use the term **Rienjō** (letter of divorce); and since I'm using the more stringent rules of the late Edo Period for the Hyūga clan matters, I decided to go for the latter name rather than the former.

The **black-pin mould** reference should be taken as fictional. This isn't how it grows.


	74. A Temple of Night's Lamentations

**Chapter Seventy-Four** : A Temple of Night's Lamentations

 **AN** : In the last chapter, I forgot a very important detail: Naruto sent Hinata the _Rienjō_ on his birth date; so the full line goes something like this: _It was Naruto's birth date today, and a gift of freedom for him was truly an act of freedom for her_!

I've edited the line, so it should've appeared by now. This **AN** will be removed with the posting of the next chapter.

# # # # # #

Sky, a temple of night's lamentations; yellow took from it its radiance, and dawn became dusk and dusk became dawn when liquid light surged back out. Eternal was this playtime of children, thunder and clangour; but this morning's breast was torn and turning red at night, hot like the son of May; a child raging between streaks of grey, like a darling boy of Autumn parted from the other in anger. Rains—autumn rains never did relent.

Today was another sombre morning: a slow rain fell, and translucent droplets, disturbed dearly by lights which came to the ground as though by force of will, impacted onto the forest, deformed, burst into fast droplets, glinting. The ground was soggy and sucked in his sandals, groves fed by water. This forest's death was slow, so slow and agonizing; but Autumn's slow death was the sweetest death . . . in Winter's eyes and embrace—children, such martyrs!

Sasuke had no intention of coming out here, walking in the rain to do nothing. It was a hopeless mission that served no purpose. He always could count on his older brother to humiliate him, remind him of his place in the clan. He let out a hot breath touched by his chakra, and mist melted rapidly in front of his eyes, decorated by rain-touched lashes.

Anger moved and struck the chakra-coil, and inside, chakra crackled and anger did boil. His sibling, winter's immaculate dream, was never fair—he was unfair, _always_. Sasuke walked through the sleeping forest made restless by benign and angry storms. He could hear Kai's wet footfalls behind his back, in pursuit of him, and he had the sudden urge to stop, turn around, and take his anger out on him. He wanted to be unfair, too! Itachi's most obedient whelp—the man was insufferable!

Sasuke chose not to turn around and remind Kai of his hopeless cravings. What good would it do? He let out another breath and mist sizzled and fumed against the latent fires. His mind left the vacancy of his gaze and entered the domain of desperation: Karin had asked him to meet her in their secret place his brother did not know of, a secret between children. But—how? He did not know what to do! Something had to give! But—what? _Think—think—think_ , he thought, rubbing his fingers together inside the pocket!

He walked and walked, eastbound, and in his sight, rain and mist animated the trees that stood still. At last, he reached the clearing, a patch covered with layers upon layers of forgotten leaves. The aroma of musk and rot nearly clogged up his throat and nostrils; but there was a flavour of autumn in the air, a taste of flowers. The smell was soothing to his senses.

Sasuke stood with his back against the tree whilst fog and mist gathered about his ankles like a turbid river's froth. Kai chose to stand beside him. He did not enjoy this close proximity to Kai, but to keep his brother satisfied, he endured his presence. He watched Neji, red in the cheeks with cold, as he collected the small mission's reports from Reo, Sakura, and two Chūnins: they had to investigate the case of an ill guard in one of the outposts. If his suspicions were accurate, it was just common cold . . .

Sakura looked at him once, her movements twitchy, and then she bent her head to avoid looking at him in the face. In the fog that rose, she was a haze of lines and a blur of colours; his Sharingans were cold and hard to her pleas and seductions; his natural eyes, no less cold and no less hard. He never could understand her or her passions; her constant lust struck his nerves with an irritation. The missive could not come sooner—and then she would be gone. Naruto ought to understand: it was no use playing husband with her; marriage was not a lovesick children's game at the house of dolls. He was _such_ a fool!

She moved through the soft contours like a distant mirage, stopped by the tree to look back at him once more, and turned away and disappeared little by little in the intensifying greys of autumn. He never possessed the heart to miss her presence, to feel her absence. Soon, there would be a sense of permanence to her absence. He could not say . . . he felt anything, not even a little tingle of sadness, at the prospect.

Moments passed and the mission team went away into the forest, all but Neji. He shoved the scrolls he could into his pockets and clutched two in his hands. Then he made his way to Sasuke, his steps less firm on the rain-covered ground, from which autumn flowers grew. Little bursts of colours, they whipped about at his motion.

"Sasuke-Sama, I—" Neji spoke and stopped to hold out a scroll, "—I didn't expect to see you so soon."

"What does the report say?" Sasuke asked, unable to restrain his irritation any longer, which revealed itself in form of a throbbing green vein in his temple.

"Ah, it . . . " Neji spoke, his soft voice trailing off into the morning gloom, " . . . 'twas just common cold. Nothing serious. It's all in this report Sakura made." His breath hissed in sharply between his teeth, and the pink colour of his cheeks turned a different shade of red—he was embarrassed.

Sasuke took the scroll from Neji's hand and nodded. Neji gave a short bow and left, and he was done with this mission, at last. Of all the missions to have him oversee, _this_ was what his over-efficient brother chose? Anger—he felt such anger. A trace of it materialized and drowned in his eyes' red and visible whites of his neck and countenance, invading the chalky hue like a spill of blood into the snow—a little pink, a little sweet. This was too much! He would speak to his brother, and he would have to listen.

With this thought, which starved for the fulfilling meal of confrontation, Sasuke walked away from the clearing, homeward. His steps were firm and quick; his heart was raw-beating and fast-sounding. Sasuke did not stop, and seeing his conviction so stark and apparent on his physiognomy, Kai followed in his wake.

"Sasuke, slow down!" Kai spoke from behind, trying to catch up, puffs of white coming from his mouth and nostrils.

Trees' limbs moved in wind and play about them; but Sasuke did not answer as he moved like a wrathful ghost in their midst. If he made it to the house, Itachi would be angry with Kai again; and he could bear his increasing anger no more, not when it showed little signs of softening.

"Sasuke, wait!" he spoke again, breathless; and he increased the speed of his walk and stretched out his arm to get hold of Sasuke's wrist.

"What?" Sasuke stopped and turned around to face him, his Sharingan's flower out this time to threaten him to mind his manner and space. Sasuke never enjoyed his company—he knew. The feeling, at least, was mutual.

"Itachi-Sama—" he stopped to calm his fast breathing, "—Itachi-Sama's instructed me to—"

"I don't care what he's told you. I don't give a damn," he said and looked down, his eyebrows coming together, his cold-bitten lips narrowing into a hard line, "let go of my hand!" He looked back up at Kai, and a sharp light rolled over the fire of his irises. Kai, as if burnt by his gaze, let go immediately.

Kai stepped back—this was not good. "No need for anger, Sasuke—I'm just doing my duty."

"I'm sure you are," he answered, and a smile decorated the dull hue of his lips with a colour sharp, his anger vanishing like mist. Oh, and it was telling of Kai's weakness—he so loathed this younger one!

In the rain that thinned and the light that thickened in glorious, vision-defying waves, Sasuke saw a mousy man that bothered him night and day—his brother's favoured instrument had kept his virtue over the years, like a Kami-fearing and Karma-loving dervish: Kai was not beastly as much as timid in manner; his face was that of a young man—albeit he was as old as Serizawa, he was easily intimidated; and at his height, Sasuke could look at him eye to eye.

Kai's face was sharp like river stones and thin like a wooden puppet's and white like the whitest bone, but less white than his brother's; his eyes, unnaturally bright and dull in equal measures, failed to offer decorative effects for his features, half of which remained hidden by shadows on sunken flesh and wild black hair about his brow and cheeks; he spoke in a clipped cadence that gave his words the illusion of competence and possessed a mean mouth that he kept pursed tightly over his teeth, a method which created the impression of a strong visage.

He invested such care in creating a fair appearance to entice the one he wanted to entice—so desperately; and for what purpose? His face had no feature with which his character could flourish in another's eye—he was as dull as the Lord, whom he served, was magnificent. How foolish! Kai was a tick engorged on _his_ blood in his eyes, no more, no less.

Through his lens, Sasuke saw a wanting man who wore about his body a cord made of ardour that had been rubbed furiously against the stone-idol of his older brother's false charms: like a _proper_ daemon, Itachi's office was to cause fools to fall in lust with him and make them do his bidding—to hell and beyond? Who knew; his brother was just wicked. If Sasuke were to collect the missives, painstakingly perfumed and passionately penned, his brother received from strangers every week, he would be able to make a comforting grave for him, with a fine and chiseled slab that read: _he was dearly loved_!

They harboured hopes in their breasts that they might converse with the Anbu Commander, who was cold to matters physical in nature; so they dreamt of submission if required by him, passively. This man, too, had officiated as an accidental Anbu lackey of his Devil-brother and an optimistic receiver of his Lord's (Devil's) most-coveted kiss—so sacred, right on his lips! Oh, to be so nurturing of the dream that made skin and voice tremour, tenderly—so undone, right by his feet! Silly, silly, silly! (He had a very sudden inclination to laugh!)

"What do you hope to gain from him?" Sasuke asked, unable to stop the tremble of amusement in his voice; and he saw Kai's contours change and turn meaner—he was prone to process complicated emotions with refusals and frowns than by actions.

"I don't know what you—"

"You know what I mean," Sasuke cut across him, his smile, so full of meaning, deepening like the colour in his skin, "don't play games. If I can see it, so can he. You're fooling no one."

Wind blew in, but Kai did not weep to his dismay. In his eyes, a depth of colour flourished, a kind that Sasuke had not witnessed before. Kai opened and snapped his mouth shut, with visible anger in his eyes and face—he was glowing as red as lush tomatoes! To say something to this young one now would incur the other one's wrath: it was like being crushed between the little Devil and the older Devil; there was no deep blue sea for Kai to find refuge and drown in.

"Your obedience will get you nowhere—he doesn't care," Sasuke spoke and placed a hand on Kai's shoulder and moved his eyes around, "he . . . doesn't care. Stop listening to him. He'll make you miserable like he makes me miserable. See? We're— _almost_ alike!" Then he backed away with a soft laughter that sung in Kai's ears and left the bowls of the forest and him _all_ alone!

# # # # # #

Autumn's air laughed with the merrymaking of children fast at play. The bud lurked behind the closed well a few yards from where she stood in the library. It was empty, but his signs remained despite his absence: a wooden brush resting on the scroll; an open ink bottle; an old red lantern that was not lit. He worked in silence, and when he left, he cast off his silence like a well-worn garment in the rooms he visited to strangle her dreams: he had not called her to him for two nights . . .

Almost demurely, Izumi touched her belly with one unsure hand: she could tell that it was empty. Worry cast grey upon her countenance that was paler than usual. He had not withheld his chakra from her, but his heart was not in the act; and no matter how many times she went near him for copulation with great enthusiasm, she saw no change in his bearing: he was always . . . distant; he enjoyed the act, not her company; and her eyes, starved of an up-close viewing before, could only glut on his mystic beauty for so long. Colours of him had flooded her barren visions and spilt over the brim of her girlish eyes—many times over. They needed more, she needed more from him now.

 _Maybe the child would change him_ , she thought. It was a good thought. Men altered their behaviours to accommodate to the needs of their children, often; but to him, Sasuke was his first born, and first born sons were so dear to men! She released a long and frustrated breath; she did not understand him, at all. Sasuke was not his son—he was not! Why, oh, why was he moved by the little one's outbursts, pleas, and entreaties? Why was he so _strange_?

Izumi walked to the door that was open and stood in the doorframe, feeling a cooler breeze go through her kimono and slide along her body. Then she thought of him, which she often did, and of lust of which he was capable. When the natural heat arose in him, his flesh heard its supplication and hardened and moved. He was a man like any other man under the spell of the body's needs—he was no avowed atheist battling against the religion of physical attractions; he just knew the trickeries to hide things well.

But he sighed less whilst he filled her and brought her love and the girl in her to naught, of which she penned on the scrolls at the feeble dictations of a girl's heart. If his disinterest continued, he would send her home after the birth of his son, and she did not want to part from him—not ever. Something had to give!

Izumi turned away from the garden, upon which tear-sized and light-bespeckled droplets sat trembling, and sat down by the desk he utilised for work. In curiosity, she opened the drawer and looked at the properly arranged things: scrolls, brushes, ink bottles, and a neatly folded cloth placed beside a large brush.

It was red as blood, soft and silky as autumn's flower; and she took it out and pressed it to her nose; and a potent but crumbling fragrance escaped the threads that evoked the passing strips of her little sister's memories, who lost her life to fever in infancy: she could almost smell the presence of lavender in her twisting hair, almost see the colour in her curving smile, almost feel the smooth cream in her blushing skin . . .

The smell transported her back in time; trapped by the confines of her mind's prison, and Izumi was . . . lost. She held the cloth close to her breast, her vision entombed in the wondrous world of memories. Then, as though she felt his presence near, she looked at the door and jumped to her feet: it was Itachi and he stood in the door. It was difficult to discern the nature of his features that were overwhelmed by the moon-white of his skin. He looked at her, stepped into the room, but said nothing.

He had put up his hair in a tight ponytail again, arranging it well with a ribbon, that most of it hung straight and sleek at the back of his neck; and some of it, lank and loose, framed his face. Fully dressed, he stood tall and fair in his Anbu uniform; he was leaving . . . somewhere?

It was the fantastic operation of the mind that made Izumi take note of his appearance again; and albeit she was pretty and girlish in an effervescent sense, she thought that she looked so common in his presence. This truth was made more apparent by the light that was kinder to the coldest places of him. She was a woman, and she envied him and his perfection.

Itachi was quiet whilst he looked down at the fist that clutched the red cloth tightly and then up at the full force of redness that appeared in her cheeks, together with a disorderly collection of sweat droplets. She stole glances at his smooth face: he looked calm, but knowing him, a storm of anger could be brewing in his breast right about now!

"I-Itachi-Sama, I'm—" Izumi stopped, her words lost in her throat; fear and anxiety blurred her vision.

"Why are you—" Itachi stopped at the quick sounds of steps and rustling of wet foliage that came from the garden, and Sasuke appeared within moments at the garden door that lay open. She thanked Kami that he showed up—she was happy to see him! Itachi looked at Sasuke, and swiftly, she placed the cloth back inside the drawer; Itachi cast her a quick glance, but stayed silent.

Sasuke removed his sandals at the steps and stepped into the room, and spoke: "Leave! I need to talk to him."

And just like that, anger for him replaced happiness. "Sasuke, you—Don't talk to me like that! I won't—"

"Leave," Itachi cut across her in a voice that was sweetly acidic.

Izumi blinked, taken aback by the lack of censure in his words, and red flecked the whites of her eyes in anger, but she did not want to displease the clan's heir; so she gave a stiff and reluctant bow and marched out of the room amidst the clouds of perfume that originated from her garments and sounds of jewelry that clinked in her hair.

"I have sent her away—like you asked," Itachi spoke and he was demure, silver-tongued again whilst he approached him. Sasuke said nothing, his anger enveloping his features in a tidal wave. How he loathed this act Itachi performed: he was not an audience to his theatrics!

"What is it this time, you sweet child?" he whispered and smiled, and a layer of mischief pulled back from his face, delicately, slowly, as though he was . . . sincere in his words and steady in his promises; an idol of Nature's legerdemain, he could not fool him. Sasuke threw the scroll in his hand at the small table; it bounced off the surface and fell down in a clatter of ink bottle and brushes. Black spread across the white of scroll and few letters Itachi had created and dripped off the sides, drop by drop—his table was in a mess!

"Why make such a mess?" Itachi remarked, his manner lazy and unconcerned. "You have created more work for an old man. Are you satisfied?"

"It was common cold!" Sasuke spoke with a frowning visage that resembled that of an incensed and innocent boy.

"Is that so? You should be glad, or did you want the poor man to perish for your report? You will get another chance at a deadlier ailment. Do not be such a cruel child," he said, and wisps of light made his tear-troughs more pronounced that he looked like a crow whose outer-mask was fashioned like the charming face of a perfect theatre actor.

"You knew!" he hissed this time, with anger ringing in the sound of his voice, rough and demanding.

"My, we have a temper this morning. I am even letting you meet up with the Hōzuki boy at the outpost at dusk. What more should I do to please you?" he spoke, and the way he spoke his words caused Sasuke to become hyper-aware of the claustrophobic cacophony that reigned supreme in Itachi's presence—Itachi's library was a tomb of Sasuke's boyhood dreams . . .

"You think I don't know?" Sasuke spoke and stepped closer and noticed no hint of change in Itachi's demeanour. "You're doing this on purpose to humiliate me. You circle around protocols to do as you please. Your son isn't even born yet, and look at _you_? You're already hoarding all of the authority in the clan—and in your office. How dare you!"

"Angry . . . so angry," Itachi spoke in a soothing voice, looking at the deep of the shades assimilating to blood in his sibling's eyes, "calm your heart. Why are you always so angry with me? Why do you displease me? Why do you not do as I say? I do everything for _you_. Should that not make you happy? It should.

" _I_ am your brother, your father, your mother now—you should put your trust in me, no one else. I am not your foe. You are _my_ child, and you do not know how it hurts me when you do not listen. I do not want to see you anguished for it breaks my heart that you are hurting over things that should never matter. Not everything matters. You should know. Let them sleep. Let your anger sleep, too." Appareled in the light, he was beautiful, kingly, smiling; and his smile flushed red into the white of him. He was such a trickster! His fingers, long like hairless spider's legs and soft like moth's wings, moved against Sasuke's cheek as if he was feeling his contours in the dark; and he bent down and planted a kiss to his brow.

At that curious and unfortunate moment, Kai stepped into the room; however, Itachi did not look at him, too absorbed in his sibling's declarations regarding his future plans to prolong the quarrel between them. "I really hate your tricks and your wordy dialogues—they're nice," Sasuke spoke, Sharingan glowing and growing to appear as a flower in his eyes. "You don't get to decide how I treat the matter of our slain clan and parents. You don't. You're not my father—and you're not my mother. You're just a _liar_!

"I'll call a clan's meeting soon, and then we'll see how long you enjoy the power you have. You're not the only one who knows how to play around the rules— _Nii-Sama_!" The honourific hissed from his mouth, and then he turned around, wore his sandals, and walked away from him; and to Kai's utmost shock, he saw reds of amusement flecking Itachi's eyes and lips. He lowered his eyes and face at once when Itachi looked at him, all traces of amusement gone from his face.

Itachi approached him and the manner of his walk was ominous; he stopped a step short of him and looked down, and Kai, up. Light was bright and fresh behind Kai's back whilst he stood inside his Lord's shadow, and the yellow crown of Kings was most glorious upon his head.

"You have made a little mess again when I told you not to," Itachi spoke and cast the table a brief glance and returned his eyes to Kai's awe-struck face. "If not provoked, he is usually never this angry, yet he threatened his brother with consequences this time. Did you say something to him?"

"Itachi-Sama, I tried, but he didn't list—" and he could speak not one more word as Itachi grabbed him by the throat, with his fingers digging against the trembling rings of his windpipe.

"I asked of you to take him to the northern outposts first," he spoke, and his tongue was easy and sweet in his mouth again, "yet you gave him the task I had reserved last for him. Why would you do this? It is as if you exhibit this— _behaviour_ on purpose. I have not even asked of you to come clean about the bruise on Sasuke's breast. Are you testing where the limits of my patience end?"

Itachi lifted Kai up by the neck that he stood on his tiptoes to meet Itachi at eye level; and he saw, in terrible fear and awe, arrogance and anger furiously compete to take hold of the deep domain in Itachi's eyes; neither won, neither lost, but his eyes remained as menacing and black as before.

"I d-didn't do anything, Itachi-Sama," he spoke clearly for the grip was still tender.

"The first words that come from a man's lips are always a lie," Itachi spoke and increased the pressure against the pronounced ridges of Kai's throat that he saw whites and reds mingle in bursts inside his unhelpful vision, "what use do you have for me if you keep creating messes—little messes that only increase my worries? After all, you were granted this office for a purpose."

"I-I swear it—I didn't—" Kai spoke as though words were wrung from his throat with great force; he could barely breathe, and his throat was filled with fire!

"And now you are swearing like a fool," he whispered, his voice slightly hissing in Kai's ears, "I always tell you to stay quiet if he says something in anger, but you enjoy bickering with a boy. You find joy in this playtime. Is that why you bruised him for you wanted to play?"

Kai shook his head with the little will left in him; but his words reduced the ruler of Kai's world, his heart, to a trembling and shamed little boy. He wanted to weep in the corner, with his head against the wall, but he had no air in his throat to create a plea: Itachi had intensified his grip on him; any more pressure and he might break his neck in two. The little puffs that remained in his trachea poked from the inside to locate a passage to his mouth, and his Sharingan fell asleep under the depths of blacks in shame and fear—he was unsure if it would ever resurface to grant him pride.

"I do not enjoy the thought of you wanting to play with my child. Do you want me to split your throat in two and send the remains to your dear sister for her eternal lamentations? I hope you do not want her to write haikus about your broken neck whilst she weeps alone in the house—till her remaining years," Itachi spoke with tenderness that was sincere and sinister, and suddenly, his murderous grip on Kai's throat softened; he slumped to the floor onto his knees, hands going to his red throat, coughing. "Do not pursue him any longer. I will take care of matters myself. Leave."

Kai lifted his eyes, and it took great skill for his hasty Sharingan to animate the flurry of images in the world about him. Air filled his throat like water and cleaned the traces of pain—little by little; and behind Itachi stood Serizawa with a deeply concerned and remorseful look on his features.

Itachi turned around and picked up his sword from the rack; and thinking that he might use it to threaten him again, Kai gathered his body to a standing position, letting his gaze drift back down in obedience. He said nothing, touched his throat once, and left the room.

"Did you give the girl child the gold?" Itachi asked after Kai left the room and sheathed his sword, which shone as rays touched the steel.

Serizawa, almost taken off-guard by his soft tone of voice for the briefest moment, nodded. "Yes, Itachi-Sama—but she asked to meet with you. I didn't say anything to her. Perhaps you should talk to her again. She's very young. She might make a mistake."

"Do you like children, Serizawa?" he asked and turned to face him and his eyes glinted—even inside the meek shadows of the room.

"Yes, I do—I love children. They're sweet and innocent in a manner adults are not," he replied, his heart beating faster at the strange question the young heir posed.

A full smile crossed Itachi's lips this time—he was . . . amused. "You love children, yet you are almost endearing like a child yourself," he spoke, and wind, in a playfulness of mood, plucked at his hair and loosened a dark strand to drift about his face; and he looked . . . mischievous like he was up to no good.

And a sunny and embarrassed smile rose to Serizawa's mouth, but he said nothing. He followed Itachi as he walked out of the house. He stopped by the well to look at Sasuke standing by the stream at the far end of the garden, with Izumi by his side. He had the sudden urge to move in that direction to stop the quarrel that was inevitable, but he did not.

"Children," he spoke, as if to himself and looked ahead, " _you_ should decide upon the day we are to meet with the girl child, yes? I do not want to delay this matter any longer."

Serizawa nodded and followed him out of the garden, and out of the Uchiha village; and both men left the makings of the deadliest storm in their wake!

Sasuke stood by the stream, his reflection disturbed endlessly by ripples. He sat down on the thick pillowy grass that shivered in wind. The grass was wet, not muddy. Upon feeling his presence, Koi slipped to the surface in urgency; their round mouths, enlarging and contracting, showed above water, releasing silver bubbles which burst as soon as they touched the surface.

He reached into his pocket and took out a small pouch, and then he began feeding the fish, which were impatient, boiled rice. Izumi stood not far from him, but he ignored her presence: he was in no mood to argue with her.

Wind came at them, and, as her kimono layer floated up, he noticed that she was quite thin-ankled. The jewelry chinked and clinked in her hair, a discordant music which affected the natural tunes of the new storm. After a few minutes of listening to it, his head began to hurt; he rubbed his hands together, shoved the pouch into his pocket, rose up. At this, she made a sudden movement towards him, but stopped mid-way.

He paid her no mind and turned around to leave; and that was when she spoke: "Itachi-Sama's unfair to you. I-I feel for you. It wouldn't hurt him to be a little gentle." She bent her head with a sudden movement and looked about the grass in embarrassment.

Sasuke stopped, turned a little, feeling the full force of wind hit the front of his body. Sky was turning dark and dreadful—what kind of storm was this that was so quick to form again? "That's my business. You don't need to worry about me," he spoke, his voice devoid of roughness or smoothness.

Quickly, Izumi raised her head, and he noticed a secret in her eyes and face; nervous and blushing, she had something on her tongue, and it got him curious. If he pushed her _just_ enough, she would spill it—sooner than later! "I mean it!" she almost shouted and darted her eyes about the house, fearful of Itachi's presence—she was so strange the way she lusted for him and feared him, too!

"He's not good to you!" Izumi continued and took a step forward and enlarged her eyes for dramatic emphasis; she looked almost frantic, almost silly. "He's mean and unfair. You _should_ go to the council. You're an heir, too. He shouldn't treat you like this!"

Sasuke looked down and saw her hands shaking, not from cold but from fear. "Don't talk about Nii-Sama like that," he spoke and looked up to meet her dull brown eyes that were rendered more intense by her frightened state, "I told you, it's _my_ business, not yours. Why do you keep getting involved in things that don't concern you?

"You should sit in the guestrooms and look pretty. That's the only reason Obā-San brought you here."

His words stung her like a buzzing spiral of gnats. The carefully twisted hairs that hung at her shoulders frizzled to attention, so did the fine golden ones on her arms and nape. Anger sent up into her cheeks a more radiant shade that she began to resemble an embittered child with a bloated face. Lord Sage! She looked livid!

"Don't speak to me like that, you bitter child!" Izumi retorted, bending forward, clenching her fingers into fists. "You've got no right to insult me! When I become—"

" _If_ you become his wife," Sasuke forestalled her before she could complete her words, "I don't know what Obā-San sees in you, but you took care of her when she was ill—she feels _deeply_ indebted.

"There are so many women in the clan who're prettier and wealthier than you are. I've heard that Kai's sister is the most beautiful woman in the clan—Kuro?"

"She's barren!" she spat out, her countenance warped, red, and angry.

"Ah, you're jealous," he spoke, smiling, enjoying her anger, "but you're right—that's the only reason she couldn't make it to Nii-Sama's bed. Lucky for you, huh?"

"And I'm not wrong," Izumi spoke whilst she backed away, taking a deep and long breath with which her breast rose, and composed herself, "Itachi-Sama doesn't care about you. It's true!"

"I told you to mind—"

"Why don't you ask your friend?" she spoke and made a big smile, teeth and all. "That runt who looks a bit blue—what was his name? Ah, Sui—Suigetsu! He knows. What don't you ask him what your brother did to you!"

Sasuke straightened his body and raised his hand to wipe at his face and spoke, his voice acerbic (he was expecting her to spill something humorous, not this!): "what're you talking about?"

"You were screaming! You were blind. He'd used his Genjutsu on you," Izumi spoke, and her smile that grew dangerous like a smudge of blood was a misplaced decoration on her made-up face.

Swiftly, Sasuke grabbed hold of Izumi's arm and yanked her forward and hissed: "I don't like you—I never have! The sooner you leave here, the better. You have no shame! You're so desperate that you'd lie 'bout something like this?"

Fear and anger came and went in short and rapid bursts into her eyes. Her breathing was heavy, burdened, but she had come to him with a purpose. A quarrel in the Council Hall? Itachi would cast her aside and leave her abandoned with her girlhood dolls, her dreams. His mind would come to be occupied, with force, by this boy's theatrics, and her darling son would lay weeping and forgotten by his father in the cold of Winter nights. To hell with him—she would not let him ruin her like this!

"You always hurt me. I want you gone!" Izumi spoke with honesty, her words coming out like a shout over the wind whose rising echo was a foreboding sign of anger. "I'm not lying! I don't lie—your brother's a liar!" She was weeping now, tears streaking through the powder on her face, which she applied to match the white of Itachi's winter-white skin-tone.

Sasuke let go of her arm, his body shaking, his Sharingan coming out like a loose tide into the black, like a sinister massacre of men at night. He did not wait around, and after gazing up at the clouds that drifted across the sun, he left the garden with a renewed conviction in his steps!

# # # # # #

It must have been midday when Sasuke saw the outpost's wooden pillar loom up from between the peaks, adorned with red and gold foliage. He walked down the small hill, his steps steady, looking down at the burst of flowers lying deep in the fragrant and pillowy grass.

This outpost was a depot, but it had little capacity to hold large supplies of weapons, food, and medicine for armed Shinobi in times of war. He never understood its purpose, and Fire Country had many depots like this one, sprinkled about in the forests that blanketed a large part of the country.

When Sasuke approached the gate, half of which was obscured by tall grass, the guard recognised him. The stout man made a smile and bow towards Sasuke and opened the gate. It was sturdy and made from wood, with seals inscribed on its extremities. The grass on the grounds was short, cut all year round by few men wielding chakra-sharpened sickles. It was thick enough that it absorbed most rain and stayed lush throughout the year, but winter.

Turning to his Sharingan's vision, he saw smooth and long plumes of chakra lift from the ground at his arrival. They must have been visible without Sharingan, too: chakra breaths! They usually appeared at night by the groves when it was dark and moon was high; but it was deep grey in the sky, and they, like confused faeries, fluttered about at his chakra's call.

Sasuke breathed in a deep breath as he looked around at the row of small quarters, his ears filling with clink-clinks the particles put out whilst they collided with one another in hopeless movements. His heart jumped and anger recollected its intensity, which it had lost during this small journey, at the sight of Suigetsu's chakra in one of the quarters: he was bent over an old bed, rooting through the contents of his bag which always smelt like the oldest leather.

He steeled himself and walked through the orbs, pale whites against the greys of air and sky, that bounced off his body in gentle and slow motions. With every step he took, his anger swelled; his hand went to his back to wrap around the hilt of his sword, and his intentions of vengeance and destruction compounded onto one another. His Sharingan had grown to maximum effect, which caused expulsion of sinister chakra into the area.

Suigetsu did not even see him, but he felt him first! Sasuke gave him little chance to move when he came through the door and had him against the wall before his heart could ease into the motion of another beat, with a sword to his throat. The sharp end had only touched Suigetsu's skin, and instantly, a mark of blood appeared on the steel that was as smooth and beautiful as moon rays.

"Nice ta see ya, too?" Suigetsu spoke, his lavender-coloured eyes big and large. This was not good!

"I'm going to ask you this once," Sasuke hissed, his eyes hissing louder than his mouth, "is it true that Nii-Sama used Tsukuyomi on me? How many times?"

"W-What?" he questioned, utterly terrified.

"How many times?!" he snarled this time and pulled Suigetsu forward and slammed him back against the wall. This little roughhousing made every single bone in his body ring like a separate instrument. Colours of pain appeared in his eyes like blots of ink raining down from the sky.

"Who—who t-told ya?" he asked, surprise clear and resounding in his choking voice. Sasuke's torso was pressed against his, and his weight was oppressive, dangerous, cruel!

Sasuke backed away and allowed him to pull in a full breath. Suigetsu slid down to the floor and looked up at Sasuke's sharp features, which drew shadows upon their impeccable arrangement, frozen in utmost shock. His eyes glowed, more in anguish and less in anger, in his face. He . . . looked like a hurt child that had tasted the bitter taste of anger for the first time . . .

"Izumi," Sasuke answered in a tight whisper after re-collecting his thoughts again, "she'd never lie about something like this. If she'd known this sooner—"

"What a floozy," he remarked and let out a little chuckle that rang louder in silence and dimness that remained in this room: the grounds were empty and winds, strong.

"Why would you lie 'bout this?" Sasuke asked, and breaths hissed into his mouth in anger that was as raw and real as storms, "how could you, you ungrateful runt?!" The spiteful rage in his voice struck Suigetsu and he flinched.

After a long silence, in which Suigetsu felt trapped underneath Sasuke's shadow, he let slip a little whisper: "'am sorry . . . "

"How long have you known, huh? How long?" Sasuke asked and took one step forward and his hand clenched tighter on the hilt. "Did he fill your poor mouth with the taste of gold? Did you enjoy it? Did you like humiliating me to do his bidding? How long—how long?!" And his shout beat against the walls of the room and winds of the storm and frame of the feeble Hōzuki, loud, commanding, bitter!

"I did it—did all af it!" Suigetsu shouted this time, rising to his feet with swiftness, and his shout matched his. "'am a poor cunt like ya say. Ungrateful, too, ya know? 'am like that—'am just a cunt—always been a lil' cunt.

"Sage knows 'am not proud af it, but what can ya do? It's pride or livin', and I ain't got the heart to keep lickin' pride that never did me good. Ya can't sleep on pride when yor stomach's growlin' an' empty. It hurts so much at night—so much." And in the light that came sweetly and softly from the spaces between fog that hovered over the ground outside, Sasuke saw droplets materialising in Suigetsu's eyes, one by one.

"I've never worked fer ya. Yor brother had gold, and I needed it ta feel—ta feel like a man—ta feel like I can be somethin', too," he said with trembling lips, took a weary step, and slumped down onto the bed that squeaked, "ther's nothin' worse than bein' poor—nothin'! Ya look at full plates and ya look at yor mum weepin' in the empty rooms, turnin' to bones, and ya—ya stop carin' 'cause what can ya do but look and—feel pity?"

Suigetsu passed his hand over his head and face that, in the lantern's falling light, looked scared and ashamed. "I didn't want ta do nothin' af it ta ya—I didn't," he paused and pulled in a sharp breath, "I had no choice. I was afraid af bones an' empty plates an' rains that came down on ya when ya thought ya felt safe in the night.

"Ya said ya liked the rain and storm. I hate 'em—hate 'em so much. They beat ya down. They shame ya that ya got no roof over yor head. Folks look at ya funny when yor clothes are torn and ya smell like a bitch on the street—a good fer nothin' bum."

Suigetsu breathed in and out the storm-enticed air several times that rushed in torrents into the room; and by his side, the lantern's light flickered and flung yellows and greys over his countenance tightened in concentration and contemplation; at this moment, he looked tragically adult.

"I got tired af it—everythin'. I didn't want ta be poor. I never want ta be poor," he said and wiped at his eyes and nose with a quick movement of his hand, "I don't know how many times yor brother did this to ya. I only know 'bout three. My first pouch af gold was 'bout findin' ya 'cause ya was lost in the forest—ya was mad!

"I swear that he was happy ta see that ya was not hurt. He ain't so bad. He's mad—I know, but he ain't so bad. At least, he ain't like me brother—me brother liked ta stick swords in me neighbor's arse when they called 'im a bum faggot. Mum told me, but she was all skin an' bones when she said that. She might've just been a mad ol' crone. He wanted me ta hide it frem ya. He never told me why. I don't know, mate. 'am just ramblin' . . . "

Suigetsu raised his head in Sasuke's direction, and he saw him walking into the maze of greys, and within moments, he disappeared from sight—Suigetsu did not know when he had walked away from him . . .

When Itachi reached his house, he looked up and saw a heart in the breast of a yawing sky. A flood of black was rising up fast from behind the hills, which appeared menacing at this hour. It would be night soon. Inside, it was quiet save for the whispers of women from his grandmother's room—too quiet.

He had faith in Suigetsu's promises, but the Hōzuki man kept his legs in two boats; he was not that trustworthy. He went to Sasuke's room first, opened it, and looked at the darkness that surrounded the red lantern: it looked new, unlike the one he used for his room and library, gifts from a father to his sons; Sasuke had taken care of the gift, which was his to keep _forever_!

"Itachi-Sama, you're home early," Tanaka rasped, his steps slow and creaking on the wooden floor, "shall I arrange dinner for you? I've cleaned the mess in the library. The child Izumi must've dropped the ink. Young girls can be clumsy. She will learn not to mess with your things!" He smiled, and then, his eyes popped out as if he just remembered something quite important and added: "he's not home."

"Where is he? Did you not stop him from leaving?" Itachi asked and closed the door.

"Itachi-Sama, I—" he stopped and rubbed his aged and venous hands together in anxiety, "—you know he doesn't listen to me. I did stop him, but he said that he'd be back before dark. I don't know why he's not back." He slumped his rounded shoulders further, appearing even smaller than he was.

Itachi looked at the paper screen, on which light inked the curves of shivering boughs in the garden; and without the crescent's presence up in the sky, they presented themselves with a unique blackness against the yellows of the lantern's light—an imprint, an artificial splendor of which he knew all too well . . .

"It is dark, yet he has not come back," Itachi spoke and gazed in the direction of the main door, indecisive. "You can arrange the dinner when he comes back. I will wait for him." Then he went to his library, placed the untouched sword in the rack, and sat down by the small table. It was clean, like Tanaka had said, and everything was in place again. Coal burnt red hot in the portable brazier, releasing a faint smell of burnt ash.

The garden door was still open, and outside, wet flora made mist appear in form of thin upward-moving lines over the sheet of grey in the background. He saw the black burn white with blue flickers at the far end of the sky. A storm was rolling over the peaks there in all its power. Mercifully, this patch of land had escaped its wrath.

He lit the lantern and increased the flame and light streamed along the contours of everything it touched. The red paper was frayed and had turned so old. No matter how many times he adjusted the flame, this red was subdued; and the Uchiha fan pattern, no less muted in its intensity.

Turning his face, Itachi picked up the clean brush. In this light's nature that was languid, half of his unblemished countenance resembled a sliver of moon; the other half, a mask of red. He wrote one letter and looked at the garden again, the clutched brush poised over the circular inkpot.

He put the brush down, not caring that its wet-end left a smudge on the scroll that only grew in size. He breathed in the air that came from the garden; and as if he had taken a swig of his sake, he leant his head and back against the wall and closed his eyes—waiting . . .

Itachi woke up to the tinkling of the falling rain; his vision swayed and focused on the droplets that fell down from the roof in strings. Looking at the sky above the tree limbs, he noticed the diluteness of black at the sky-splitting horizon. Had he fallen asleep? He sat upright, his senses fresh and sharp again. Coals had turned grey and cold in the brazier that, now, two thin strips of smoke travelled upon the fabric of air.

He wanted to have breakfast, but he did not feel particularly hungry; and it was getting late, and he had to visit the border before midday. He decided to delay his need till noon. Smelling the smell of lilies about him, he got up and left the confines of the library.

It took him an hour to perform his morning ablutions and change into fresh Anbu garments. By the time he was ready, black had lost most of its thickness—the arc began to appear more and more translucent at the loss of night's oppressive control. Morning was not far.

Itachi visited his chamber to get a scroll, and when he stepped out, Tanaka greeted him with a worried face. "Itachi-Sama, won't you have breakfast? You didn't eat anything last night, too!" he spoke, sounding rough and old. "He didn't come home last night. I wanted to wake you, but—"

"You should have woken me up," he spoke, his tone of voice stern, not harsh; but Tanaka knew that he was . . . very displeased. He bowed and watched Itachi leave the house with a temper . . .

After he entered the boundary of the forest, it took him a moment (courtesy of a special Teleportation-mark nearby which only the Caption and few more were aware of) to reach the outpost where Suigetsu dropped off his resignation letter. The guard told him that Sasuke came to meet with the man, but he left the outpost alone; Suigetsu left here without a soul, as well. He did not understand the child—was he still angry over a small argument between them?

Itachi delayed the border matter for later: he had to find Sasuke. What if—Suigetsu had said something to him? He rejected the thought. It was a fear borne of irrationality, and Suigetsu was too fragile and dependent upon the work he gave him to survive. At the end of the day, thoughts of constant hunger that came scuttling from the past were his greatest fear!

Thankfully, Itachi's task was made easy by the man, whom he met on his way to his office, from the Training Grounds. He told him that Sasuke was staying in the one of the empty quarters on the grounds; due to the arrival of a biting winter, many Shinobis who came for training had left Konoha. Wedged between the mountains and forests, the Hidden Leaf turned brittle in winter and had no training programmes, only expensive Shinobis for hire!

It was early in the morning when Itachi reached the grounds; rain stopped, but the sky had hidden away its nature behind winter's coming melancholy. He crossed the grounds, upon which greying grass moved glimmering. Fog grew thick like trunks in front of him, and he was forced to draw on his clan's sight in need. He did not stop walking, his walk slow and calm, his eyes upon Sasuke's chakra that flared and bared his present mood—deep purple in-between the vertical crossings of chakra breaths; it seemed as if he was looking at him through the spaces between the lattice door . . .

The door was open, and when he crossed the threshold, it began to rain behind his back. It was a soft rain, thin and soothing its sounds. Itachi stopped and looked around: the room was small and stuffy with a set of drawers and one bed. Sasuke sat in the large window, his one leg bent and cramped inside the tight window-frame; and unsurprisingly, albeit Sasuke was aware of his brother's presence, he paid him no mind.

Rain fell onto Sasuke's left cheek and eye and coursed across to the other side, leaving light-coated droplets in its wake. His expression was . . . odd; his half-lidded eye, one which Itachi could see, rain-filled and dull. Sasuke blinked after every few heartbeats, as if out of natural habit, but he did not look his way.

This silence between brothers bothered the older one, so he decided to intrude upon the calm of the younger one first: "I did not stop you from taking the matter to the council. Then why are you still angry with me?"

At his question, he saw Sasuke take two breaths with quick movements of his breast; and after one beat, he spoke in a voice that was harsh like a half-formed growl: "leave. I don't want to talk to you."

"Come—do not be this way," Itachi spoke, and his voice, though sweeter than the rain, hurt Sasuke's pride so much that he did not think possible. He was mocking him—he was _always_ mocking him! And this thought filled his mortal coils with unimaginable rage!

Sasuke stepped back into the room, stood up straight, and looked at him and the red of him. No, all of him was red tonight! He was a trickster—a liar—a theatre actor! And he had turned him, his younger sibling, into an instrument of his lies. He did not move from where he stood, and Itachi noticed that dullness receded in Sasuke's eyes, replaced by a glint that was still being warmed by his anger.

"I told you to leave—get out of here!" he said in the same tone again, cast the open door a glance, frowned a frown that sunk deep into his face.

"What has got you so upset?" Itachi asked, almost experiencing something close to a mild case of disbelief. "Did Izumi quarrel with you? I will send her home if she did. Did Kai say something brash to you? He will be remorseful if he did. Did Suigetsu let slip . . . a little lie? He will be taught a great lesson _if_ he did. Tell me, why are you so displeased?"

"Are you worried 'bout Suigetsu's lies?" Sasuke asked and moved and stopped at arm's length from him; and Itachi looked, with eyes narrowed and red, at the lightest of greys cast upon the expanse of Sasuke's child-like face.

"You child, are you playing a game of riddles with me?" Itachi asked and watched how his shadow traced the lines of his sibling's countenance like a free-flowing ink. "Come—tell me who displeased you, and I will decide what needs to be done."

Thunder clapped far away, and this distant sound was joined by a faint whisper from Sasuke's mouth: "you did—many times, but I never knew. Kai—that bastard. He's no different from you. You're a weasel like the men whose company you keep. A liar."

Itachi's cultivated features took on a severe air; and opening his hand fully, he struck Sasuke across the cheek. His face turned to the side and pink appeared in white almost immediately.

"Disrespectful child—you have grown shameful in that boorish boy's company," he spoke slowly, calmly, and grabbed Sasuke by the thick of his arm. "Come—now!"

"You're lying to me right now," he spoke, Raiton fizzing around his hand and taking a proper shape. "Tell me, how many times did you use your Genjutsu to drive me mad?" Dragging air into his lungs with astronomical force, he fueled the fires that burnt as ferociously as daemons in his face that was so reminiscent of a boy's face—he had never seen Sasuke so angry!

Sasuke moved towards Itachi so swiftly that he barely managed to flicker a little to the left and catch his arm before his hand made contact with his body; and, had Sasuke's body not been trembling in anguish and rage and weakness, the sharp-end of his Jutsu would have gone clean through Itachi's shoulder. He flung Sasuke around into the wall and pressed up against him, his grip tight around the chakra-dripping wrist!

"Calm down," Itachi spoke, his voice smooth, whilst he twisted Sasuke's wrist to block the chakra-carrying coils that transported live-chakra to his hands' exist points. It was no use—this trick had little effect on a (nearly) robust Sasuke's impossibly potent chakra!

"Let go!" Sasuke shouted and pushed forward and radiated Raiton from his whole body; however, before the surge could enter Itachi's system, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a needle-like instrument, jammed it into his neck's one side and then the other—lines of blood jumped forth from the tiny wounds and streamed vertically down the nape: the act shocked Sasuke's senses, and he blinked and enlarged his eyes with each jab; his Sharingan gleamed once with all its might and went out!

Itachi had punctured the primary chakra-coil at two places that connected the Sharingan to the body. This primary coil lay deep inside the neck; he did not want to resort to this, but he had no choice! Sasuke's body went limp and a dark sludge fell into his eyes; instinctively, he touched his neck—he could see nothing!

Grabbing both of Sasuke's wrists, Itachi threw him down to the floor and pressed his knee down into his convulsing breast—he was not backing down! "Stop this—calm down," he spoke again, his voice less smooth this time, and watched small pools of red spread outwards on the floor, away from the origins. And from where he sat, they were darker than the colour of _his_ blood!

Sasuke freed one of his wrists and grabbed Itachi by the neck, but his lungs were not full to make his body work the way he wanted. He coughed, Itachi's knee squeezing the breaths out of him, and his fingers slipped on his brother's throat and left long, red streaks across his skin.

Itachi took hold of his wrist again, and after a few moments of thrashing, Sasuke did not struggle anymore—he started laughing. "You bastard—damn you!" he coughed out between laughter and turned his face towards the floor.

"Suigetsu bites the hand that feeds him. Your company will ruin you," Itachi spoke, looking at the boy whose laughter echoed away in the wind.

"He didn't tell me anything—" he stopped and licked his lips whose rosy fleshes clove to each other in thirst and hunger, "—I squeezed it out of him. He folded like a cheap flak-jacket. You thought I wouldn't find out? _Fuck_ you!"

Itachi removed his weight from him and stood up. "I did everything to protect you. You may not understand it now, but it is true," he said and gazed at Sasuke whilst he sat up and pressed his back against the wall—Itachi could tell that he _still_ could not see a thing.

"Protect me?!" Sasuke spoke, his voice approaching a shout, turned his head and blind eyes in Itachi's direction, and felt a cool music of wind against the wetness on his nape. "You had no right to do what you did! You had no right—you bastard! You liar! Lair!" Sasuke trembled and his torso jerked forward with the brutality of fury that hit his body with lashing strokes; and the sound from his throat, rumbling deep and piercing high, beat about the walls like lightning.

Sasuke's anger was too much, and Itachi felt a deeper and crueler one of his own, rich, ripe, and reaping in his heart's chambers and eyes' coils that dragged in a sizzle of passion; and resting tomoes spun and spun and spun and turned into Shurikens that cut deeply into the glass of perfect red—a mystery created in the flesh by the hand of a murderer! Sasuke did not see—he did not feel—the depth of his brother's cruelty! Child—such an innocent child!

Itachi turned away from him and stopped at the threshold when he heard Sasuke shout behind him: "if I find out that you had something to do with the massacre, I'll kill you! Damn you—I'll kill you!" And this time, albeit faint in the storm, his words were heard in rooms down the row; and one by one, lights came on in each room and whispers soon followed . . . he looked at the glow of lights in the fog and felt raindrops cut across the pinks on his throat. Then he walked away in the direction of his house . . .

Itachi did not know how long it took for him to reach his house, but he was dripping when he stepped in through the main door. Inside his eyes, Shurikens spun in danger; outside, storm roiled in anger. He did not hide the Mangekyō that stripped away the walls and broke them down into primal patterns of chakras, red being the most prominent which came from the cutting nature of his Shurikens. And whilst Itachi approached the library, he felt that his anger needed the cold hand of his control!

Izumi was standing with her back to door when Itachi stepped into the library. Rao stood beside her with a scroll in her hands. His closeness forced Izumi to turn around; and she had barely registered the presence of Shurikens in Itachi's countenance when his hand rose and struck her cheek with a lightning-swift twitch and half of all the anger he felt inside.

And albeit he did not channel much force into the strike, it was enough that it sent her stumbling back; she hit the back of her head against the rack and fell down in a cascade of scrolls on the floor. The smacking sound rung in her ears; and her cheek burnt hotter than the brazier and redder than the artificial blush she had applied there in the morning.

"Itachi—no! Stop—no!" Rao shouted and clutched Itachi's hand when he tried to raise it again. She stood before him and pressed her small body's whole weight against the front of his body.

"How dare you?" Itachi spoke, his voice so cold and slow.

Izumi straightened her body and felt her cheek—her hair had come loose and half of it lay over her other cheek and forehead. Brushing hair off her face, she looked at the ornamental pin that fell from her hair and him and wept with a soft exhalation.

"Why did you do this?" he asked, his visage without a discernable expression, his eyes like that of a fiery zealot. "Do you have any idea what you have done? You foolish girl. You have laid waste to years' worth of my patience. Everything I have done lies in ruin because of you. He will listen to me no longer. Why . . . why would you do this?"

Rao encircled his waist and pressed her face into the lower part of his torso. Izumi could hear her moaning. Izumi's face contained not a trace of anger, only hurt, and her stooped shoulders heaved convulsively. He had no pity for her in his face, much less his eyes that sung a voiceless tune demanding release, from which she was _still_ safe . . .

"No one had the audacity to speak of that night, but you," he began, his arms, calm now, hung at his sides, "you lied to me. How much did you see that night? I made one mistake, and you acted to remind me of it?"

"Itachi, my darling boy, forgive her! She did not mean to cause you any harm!" Rao moaned and took his hands in hers and kissed them.

Itachi's Shurikens cut lines across her body, and then he looked straight ahead at the painting that was darker under the slant of shadow in the alcove. "Her womb is empty," he spoke, without a heart, "if she is not gone from here by the time I return, I will take her to the gate myself. Then she will be responsible for her own shame."

And then he left the library, and sounds of garden and sobs of girl together joined in unison with storm's music . . .

# # # # # #

It was night, and air drunk on the sake of autumn's perversions. He was sitting in a large chair made for a King—no, it was a poor imitation of _that_ chair. The room was dark; its silence, darker. By his arm sat a lantern, its beams weak and pink on his skin. He waited, waited, waited. At last, a boy appeared from the shadow behind the curtain!

Oh, what a beautiful boy, no older than twelve; and his Lord was twelve when he had first seen him, too. He remembered his lips, brash red and petal-like. Kami had indulged in a palate of red, white, black to transform their creation's features into a godly visage!

And this boy—this one _right_ here—was a moon-lit manifestation of the Lord he loved. A simulacrum—not as perfect as the real thing, but the closest thing to perfection! The boy was not skilled to shield himself behind the façade of Winter's careless manner: he was innocent, eyes big and wondrous and without red's taint. He was a boy still—he, too, was a boy at heart! His visage was not impenetrable like his Lord's, and he trembled, trembled cold, and trembled bold whilst the boy sat on his knees as though he were here to offer a prayer and prostrate by his feet.

He had spent so much gold to enjoy this little illusion. The boy's little mouth was parted open, affording the man a free indulgence; and when the boy freed him with little hands, his organ was bloated with blood. Circling his hand around the little throat, he felt himself—all of himself—slipping, stirring, turning like an eel inside the tight and wet tunnel of him.

Oh, his small lips, wrapping around him and moving over and over again! It was bliss, his heart joyous, and his solitude was vocal with the sounds of breaths joined to the boy's breaths. Leaning his head back, he watched lights falling and dissolving on the ceiling. The boy—his Lord's coarser image—had gladdened his heart's abode.

His poor heart, it thundered and stopped when he released his burden between the softness of his pinkest lips. It was done. And when the nameless, beautiful boy walked away, he felt the silence on his heart once more. It did not matter. With this thought, he stepped outside into the forest. This place would be gone by tomorrow . . .

Light fragrance-carrying wind danced down from the mountain. It was late at night, and he had to return to his home. He made to walk when a voice stopped him: "you engage in fruitless things, Kai. How shameful!"

Kai turned around and looked upon the conniving face of Kiryu. "What do you want—leave me be!" Kai spoke, declaring his disinterest in him at this hour of night.

Kiryu smiled and looked at the sign that offered _Wakashū_ _Services_ at various prices—the bath house's most beautiful boy was the most expensive one. "I asked of you to bring me news about what you saw in the boy's eyes, but you want to roll about in the wakashū all night," he spoke and walked into the light that came down from a large and round lantern. It was yellow, and its light caused the whites in his robes to turn into yellows, too.

"You will get something when I'm certain of something," Kai spoke, and calm crumbled away from his face. "Don't come to me like this again." He did not stay, and albeit this night was still young, he left in the direction of his house, with an ache that still burnt . . .

# # # # # #

 **EN** : **Converse** , obsolete, sexual intercourse.

 **Wakashū** , young boys that were quite popular amongst men and women in the Edo Period for various reason, eroticism being the prominent one. Usually, oral stimulation was never offered by boys or men to other men; however, one painting (literally, just one) does exist in this regard: one that depicts a monk and his acolyte, with the latter performing the act. Oral stimulation was always reserved for the opposite sex.

 **Itachi** , weasel in Japanese. Now, it might seem strange that Sasuke called weasel "a weasel"; however, my usage is rooted in the word's connotative nature in the Japanese folklore, not its denotative nature in everyday language use.


End file.
